An English Summer
by ohtobealady
Summary: Cora Levinson has been given every luxury money could afford, but lacks the name to break through the upper realms of her American Society. Robert Crawley, the heir to the Earl of Grantham, has the name and family history, but is disappointed to learn that his countryseat is in danger of being lost. This is the story of a great opportunity and the way in which it presented itself.
1. Chapter One

The heat was delicious, sweet and sticky on her skin. It was warmer today than it had been since their arrival a week ago. Taking advantage of the absence of her mother, she had slipped away into the gardens before she could be found. She laid in the softness of the grass and felt the sun burn her eyes through the lids. In the distance, the water in the bay crashed against the shores and the wind whipped all around her, tickling the bright white cotton dress she wore and dancing with the long red ribbon in her hair. The thought had crossed her mind that she shouldn't lay on the ground; she wasn't a child anymore. However the scent of spring was slipping away and the spices of summer were on the breeze. It was too enticing. And so, after looking behind her toward the house, she reclined slowly in the lush grass and closed her eyes.

This was a strange age for Cora Levinson. She was beginning to feel as if she were a woman grown - confident, graceful, sensible; but the girl still lived in these moments lying in the grass. The careless girl, the giggly girl, the girl who still felt too tall or too thin.

Her mother noticed this too, and delighted in it. Upon descending the stairs, she had caught a glimpse of the whiteness of her daughter's cotton dress in the garden. She watched her daughter from the window and smiled. Cora had become beautiful. It wasn't that she hadn't always thought her child beautiful, for she had. But now she saw a different beauty in her only daughter. It was a beauty beyond the warm shine of her dark hair or the clearness of her blue eyes. She now had the beauty of a young woman. There was a soft innocence around her eyes, still playful and bright. But there, flirting in the corner of her lips, was the allure of quiet curiosity. Martha saw the way the young men looked at her daughter and she knew. She knew that soon there would be a choice to make and she was absolutely determined that it would be the right one.

For the truth was that the Levinsons hadn't always been wealthy. In fact, they had been barely middle class. When they were first married, Isidore was only working as a manager in a general store. They had lived in a small brown apartment that Martha could never seem to rid of dust. They ate well and wore decent clothes, but it wasn't enough. Not for Isidore. He was more than just a manager. He wanted to be the owner, and soon, he was one. His store sold dresses and men's shirts and they moved from their apartment to a two-bedroom house. But it still wasn't enough. Another year passed and through endless hard work, an impeccable sense of business, and an enormous amount of luck, Isidore became one of the wealthiest merchants in Cincinnati. His stores of textiles, fabrics, and ready-made clothing quickly multiplied and soon they had left Cincinnati for New York. While dry goods may not be glamorous, they were exceptionally lucrative, and Martha was grateful for that.

She remembered all too well what it was like to sacrifice, to do without. Her children never had. They hadn't been born in those early days. Cora, her oldest, had been born a year after arriving in New York City, with the silver spoon in her perfect mouth. Isidore had given the child every luxury. Every feather down bed, every silken dress, every glass doll was bestowed upon his dark haired daughter. And when they had a son a couple of years later, he was showed the same amount of affection.

Not long after Harold was born did they purchase their summerhome in Newport. Although Martha didn't care a fig for those upper elite, she couldn't help but feel as though her children would have a better chance in this world if they were inducted into the upper realms of society. So Martha played the part. She learned the rules of their game and soon Cora was a debutante, introduced to society with the likes of the Astors and the Vanderbilts. However, that was nearly two years ago. Two very long years and Cora hadn't yet managed to ingratiate herself among the families with the oldest names. Although they would smile and nod and say "how do you do" those gilded families still did not quite accept her.

So as Martha watched her beautiful daughter through the window of their Newport mansion, she couldn't help but to feel that itching feeling of anxiousness. She and Isidore had worked too hard to see their daughter, their bright and beautiful daughter, as a pariah of this society. She would not accept a future for Cora that didn't include everything they had given her and more. Furthermore, Martha knew what Cora would need to do to guarantee such a future. Cora would have to marry and marry well. Not a fellow nouveau riche, but into an established and respectable family. She'd have her own fortune, of course, and a generous one, but unfortunately, money wouldn't change her name. It wouldn't change what her future children would be called and, however unfair it was, it would certainly limit their prospects.

Martha heard the maid come in behind her, rattling a tray of coffee and cakes on delicate porcelain dishes. She turned and smiled at the girl. "You know what? I think we'll have this on the veranda." Martha opened the door for herself and stepped onto her porch. The wind immediately met her in a flourish of her green silk fabric and she walked to the railing.

"Cora?" She called and at once Cora sat up and turned back to her mother. Suddenly feeling embarrassed to be seen sprawled over the lawn, she got up and brushed the clinging green blades from her skirt. Climbing the steps of the porch, she nodded a thank you to Taylor and joined her mother at the small table.

Martha smiled at her daughter and poured the coffee. "So, the first ball of the season! Are you feeling excited?"

Cora hummed as she sipped from the steaming cup.

"Has Landry gotten your dress ready?"

She placed her cup on the saucer and looked across the gardens and to the bay. "I believe so, Mother."

Martha took a cake. "Good!"

Cora pressed her lips together and fiddled with a blade of grass that had fallen from her hair and into her lap. Martha recognized the expression painted across her daughter's face and leaned back in the chair, sighing. "What is it, Cora?"

She was silent. She shook her head almost imperceptibly.

"Nothing? You're awfully quiet for it to be nothing."

Her daughter gave a sigh and flicked the grass into the breeze. "It's only...isn't April a bit early to begin the summer's parties? They haven't begun until late May for the past couple of years."

As a mother, Martha could hear between the words her daughter spoke. "You don't want to go?"

"Of course I do," she slumped back into her chair as well and reached for a cake. She inspected the spongy texture between her fingers, "But Margaret will have her beau there and Amelia is hopeless when the other families are in attendance."

She couldn't argue that. "Then why not befriend the other families? What's wrong with Dorothea Astor? She seems pleasant enough..."

"Don't start," Cora warned with a quick glare. She put the cake into her mouth.

Martha continued, "Or what about Helen Gould? She spoke to you at the ball the Morgans gave last summer. You seemed comfortable with her..."

Cora squared her chin. She hated when her mother did this. "Don't you think I try, Mother? Truly, I do. The girls all seem to be fond of me and then the moment their mothers see who it is they are speaking to, it's over. They begin to act as if they hardly know who I am." She swallowed hard and looked back out at the bay. "They're all such snobs," she finished quietly into the breeze.

Martha felt the pang of a mother's protective nature in her chest. The girls she wouldn't blame entirely, of course. They were only doing as they were bid. Their mothers, however. Well, she could think of about a thousand things she'd like to say to them. She studied her daughter for a moment. The long curls of her hair swirled about in the breeze and she watched as Cora pulled several strands away from her lips with her fingertips. Martha picked up her cup again. "Well then. You'll just have to get a beau."

Cora let out an exasperated chuckle and tilted her head toward her mother. "And just who would you suggest?" She asked with a wag of her head. She raised her brows, "Surely not Henry Stanford?"

They both let out a laugh. "No! Never Henry Stanford! I can't understand a thing that poor boy says!" Another laugh. "Besides, he'd need a stepping stool to look you in the eyes."

Cora giggled softly, but added, "Oh, that's not to be helped, of course. Poor Henry. He is nice, Mother."

"Just not for you?"

She shook her head and took her cup from the saucer. "No. Not for me."

Martha felt the opportunity creep up and she seized it. Though eager, she treaded carefully and gently. "Well...tell me, Cora. Who is for you?"

She looked up into her mother's face. The usual joking mirth that too often lingered in her mother's blue eyes was absent. Instead there resided a calm about them and it put Cora at ease.

"I'm not sure..." She began. "I don't seem to have met him yet."

Martha nodded. "And what do you hope he'll be like when you do?"

Cora sighed and adjusted herself in her chair. She felt a smile tickle her lips before she answered. "He'll have to be kind, obviously..."

"Obviously."

She looked seriously at her mother, who tucked a stray copper curl behind her ear. She seemed as if she truly wanted to know, and it flattered Cora, but also intimidated her. Her mother never truly listened to what she said and it could hurt. But she turned in her chair toward the table and put down her cup. She studied the pinks and blues of the flowers on the saucer as she rotated it a tad on the tablecloth. She started slowly and thoughtfully.

"I'd like to marry someone who can speak smartly. Articulate. Who has a mind about him. A man who enjoys reading about things. He'll have to be sympathetic to others, of course. Not entirely beastly to the servants. Someone who appreciates history and finds those who came before us as fascinating as the latest scandal or gossip." She stopped and put her hands in her lap. The last trait she had given a considerate amount of thought to, and she held it close to her heart. "And...I hope he's proud. Not proud in a boastful manner, but rather...confident. Proud of who he is. Proud of where he's come from and his home." She shrugged and looked deeper into her coffee. "Proud of his family." Her cheeks felt warm. She realized how ridiculous she sounded. She sounded like a child. She'd been listing these characteristics in her mind since she came out two summers ago, comparing each suitor to her list and every time feeling disappointed. Some were extremely articulate. They could speak for hours on end, discourse so fair and intelligent that she felt enlightened with each conversation. But then they'd lack sympathy, scoffing at some of the other gentleman, like poor old Henry. On the other hand, there were the sympathetic suitors. These were the ones who treated everyone with such kindness, even the servants felt themselves equals. However to speak to them, well, it was as if they only knew about stocks and which horse would win Saturday's race. Frightfully dull.

The real trouble was, however, that they were all proud. They were all confident and they all stood tall. They'd smile, pleased, as they showed her their immense homes and told her about their fathers and their fathers' fathers. They were proud, but not the way Cora had hoped. In fact, if she were honest with herself, she wasn't sure in what way she hoped him to be proud. She only knew that that wasn't at all what she meant.

Martha stared at her child with furrowed brows and a mouth that she knew was slightly agape. This wasn't what she had expected to hear. She figured Cora would perhaps say handsome and rich, but articulate? Sympathetic? Not many men would fit this description. Especially those of old money. Proud, however, Martha could find a dozen men who were proud.

Cora finally raised her lashes and met her mother's gaze. Martha watched as Cora's countenance darkened from timid and hopeful into irritation. Cora gave a sigh before tossing her napkin on the table.

"What?" Cora suddenly felt naked here on the porch, pouring her heart's desires on the table with the coffee, only for them to be met with a scoff.

Her mother shook her head and forced a smile. "Nothing…it's just…"

"It's just what?"

She needed to say this as gently as possible, "I think that, perhaps, you've gotten your expectations of men set a little too high."

Cora drew in a breath. "You asked me what I hoped for…" she said lowly.

"I realize that, Cora. But, you don't live in a fairy tale world. For heaven's sake. A love of history? None of the men that you should hope to marry care a dime for history. They care about themselves, about money, about their fathers' steel companies and their mothers' maiden names! And so should you."

"Can't I at least hope that the person I'll be spending the rest of my life with cares for things other than his father's money and his mother's social standing?"

"You can hope, but it isn't realistic."

Cora sniffed and straightened her back. "Thank you, Mother!" She said shortly and rose quickly from the table.

Martha began to laugh lightly, "Thank you?"

Cora spun on her heels and looked down on her mother. "Yes. Thank you. Thank you for reminding me how completely senseless and childish I am." She couldn't finish the sentence without moving toward the door again.

Martha leaned back into the chair and called after her, "I did nothing of the sort."

Cora slammed the door behind her, the stained glass windows shaking with the force.

Martha sighed, but not truly irked. She and Cora had never gotten along easily, and now that the social season was upon them, she knew they'd be at odds again.

She looked across the veranda and to the steps that Isidore and Harold now climbed to greet her. Harold, quiet and fairly shy, stood behind his father and looked at the door he had evidently heard slam angrily.

"What's happened this time?" Isidore looked at his wife, lounging in the white chair and stirring a small cup of coffee.

Martha let out a breath. "Matchmaking."

Isidore removed his hat, shaking his head. He said nothing as he passed his wife and went through the door. Harold stood still, looking from his father's retreating back to his mother biting into another sweet cake. To him, the season had officially begun.

* * *

Hours later, Cora sat before the mirror as Landry finished clasping the last of the pieces of jewelry on her body. She finished with the necklace. A lovely design, her father had given it to her when she turned eighteen. "A beautiful necklace for my beautiful daughter," he had said as she opened the velvety box in which it was kept. She looked and saw the way the sapphires resting on her collarbone glimmered in the candlelight. It truly was beautiful, and she felt beautiful wearing it, but it wouldn't be enough. She could wear all of the finest things and it still wouldn't be enough.

A quick rap at her door diverted her attention. It would be her mother, checking on her progress. "Come in," she called as she stood, taking her long white gloves from the maid.

Her father stepped around the door and Cora couldn't hide her surprise. She held the gloves in her hand and tilted her head. "Did Mother send you?" She had been suspiciously keeping her space since their tiff this afternoon.

Isidore walked into her room. He clasped his hands around his back, and looked around at the possessions Cora kept. A vase of flowers here, a small stack of books there. In the corner, resting on a plush pillow was one of the first dolls he had given her. A white glassy face, with painted red lips, blue eyes, and dark brown hair, it had reminded him of his baby daughter at the time. He lifted his eyes to her as she stood before him. She had grown.

He cleared his throat and sat on the settee at the end of her bed. "Leave us, Landry."

The maid obeyed without hesitation, and Cora watched her go.

"Sit."

Cora stared at her father for a moment, but then found her chair behind her, the blue silk of her gown rustling beneath her as she took her seat.

Isidore breathed easily and slowly. "Yes. Your mother sent me."

Cora gave a small sideways smile and rolled her eyes. For all of the spontaneity her mother possessed, Cora still found her predictable. However, she'd been waiting all afternoon for her mother to come up and talk sugary sweetness. Not her father. For some reason she felt it was almost endearing. "Oh, Mother. She wants to be sure that I'm going to the ball, does she not?"

Isidore nodded. "Are you?"

Cora tilted her head and gave a small smile. She stood and resumed pulling up her glove. "I am dressed for it."

Her father laughed, "If you don't wish to go, we won't make you."

Cora, focused on smoothing out the wrinkles of her glove, pursed her lips slightly and replied flatly. "Mother will."

Isidore didn't like the rift between his wife and their daughter. Surely, they could find common ground. While it was true that Martha had quite a strong personality and while it was true that she too often said things aloud that she really shouldn't, she had Cora's best interests at heart. "You do understand why she pushes you to do these things, don't you?"

Cora appreciated her father's good intentions, but she felt even she knew more than he did. She lived it. She was the one the older women stared at suspiciously and angrily, as if she were an interloper. Her father was generally respected for making his fortune, even if he too would never truly belong. However, it didn't affect him as it did her. It wouldn't affect Harold as it would Cora. Cora didn't have a place in society, not truly. Not where those women were concerned, and even some of the men. Yes. She knew why. She nodded and Isidore nodded back before rising and walking toward her. He pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head.

"You'll have fun. Just be who you are. And if they don't like it, well, just know this..." Isidore took her gloved hand into his and shook it slightly, "your father is richer than theirs are."

Cora couldn't help but laugh and shake her head. "Thank you, Father. I'll remember that."

"Now! We're all downstairs waiting. Come on!"

Cora gave herself one last inspection in her mirror. She brushed over the blue and gold silks of her gown and straightened the gems of her necklace. She took a calming breath and prayed a silent prayer that at least one of her friends would be there. And if not, she knew that Henry Stanford would dance with her. His family didn't seem to mind her. Of course, they didn't seem to mind any girl who gave Henry attention.

The Rogers had one of the largest houses in Newport. Its tall, stone structure was proud and handsome. The drive was lined with lanterns and as Cora stepped out of the carriage and climbed the steps to the party, she could hear the music, laughter, and conversation from within. She held onto her brother's arm as they followed their parents up the stairs and she watched as her mother pointed to someone in the distance and waved happily at her. Cora leaned toward Harold, "Don't drink too much." It was met with a laugh. Harold knew his sister well enough to know that their mother had already embarrassed her. Father would shortly follow suit. She was counting on him to uphold respectability for their family. But, of course, their parents are why Harold drank.

He leaned back toward her as they reached the final steps. "If you expect me to endure this sober, sister, you're out of your mind." He chuckled as she withdrew her arm from his with a huff and walked quickly into the house.

She stood behind her mother has they shook the hands of their hosts. Her mother was too loud, too crass, and she began to feel her cheeks flush. Thankfully their hosts, Mrs. Andrea Rogers and Miss Helen Rogers, along with Mr. Henry Rogers, were great friends of her parents. They were one of the only old money families just young enough to accept the new wealth. Andrea was her mother's age, but far calmer. Helen, a petite blonde girl with dark eyes, came out the summer after Cora.

She nodded hellos to Mrs. Rogers and Helen and Mr. Rogers took her hand and kissed it. Beside Mr. Rogers stood someone Cora hadn't met before and Helen stepped forward to introduce them.

"Aunt Lucille, this is Cora Levinson, her brother is Harold Levinson, and their parents are Mr. and Mrs. Isidore Levinson." Her family stood behind her, but spoke to another guest.

Helen grabbed Cora's hand, "Cora, this is my father's sister, my aunt, Mrs. Richard Flaglar."

Cora smiled prettily and as daintily as she could. "How do you do?"

Mrs. Flaglar offered a tired smile before speaking. "I'm sorry, child, did you say Levinson?"

Nodding, she answered, "Yes, ma'am." But she lost the smile.

The older lady knitted her brows. "I'm not familiar with that name. Where are you from?"

Cora looked at Helen and then back at her aunt. "We live in New York, though we have a home here in Newport as well."

"Yes, I assumed that." The woman flared the nostrils of her long, thin nose and for a moment Cora thought she would be sick. "I meant, of course, where are you from originally? I'm sorry to say that I am not acquainted with any Levinsons in New York."

She answered softly. "My father is originally from Cincinnati. In Ohio."

"Oh." The woman didn't say it as a question.

Helen wrapped her arm around Cora's. "Yes, Aunt Lucille. Cora's father owns stores and he sells clothes and fabrics to other stores. It's quite interesting. Cora's always got the prettiest dresses!" Helen beamed up at Cora and then back at her aunt who was now looking at Cora as if she were an insect.

"I see."

Cora's face burned. She managed to make an excuse in order to leave, and she escaped as quickly as she could. She walked into the brightness of the ballroom and searched it for friendly faces. Harold had made his way to the refreshment table, she saw, and her mother sat in a corner with another member of the Rogers family. She didn't see the Morgans anywhere. There was Margaret, dancing with Walter across the floor. She also spotted Amelia, but she was in a crowd with Florence Vanderbilt and Katherine Adams. They had been warned by their mothers about Cora. Then that would be it. No allies.

Her family was only ever invited to these things by the Rogers and the Morgans, after all. No one else extended invitations or initiated conversation. Her mother made herself at home with everyone, unwelcome as she was, even with the Astors and Vanderbilts. But Cora couldn't knowingly vex others the way her mother did in order to make herself known. So instead she resigned herself to a night with dancing with Henry Stanford, and perchance some other boys who dared to challenge their mothers and fathers. She caught Harold's eye for a moment across the ballroom. He was standing against a wall by himself, holding his glass. When he saw his sister he raised his drink slightly and smiled with mischief etched across his brow. Cora twisted her mouth. Perhaps she would have a drink. It couldn't possibly make things any worse.


	2. Chapter Two

He spied the early morning through the window of his room, a fire crackling behind him. The day broke drearily with a layer of fog creeping over the grounds. A cover of clouds allowed intermittent rays of light to break through, but otherwise the sky loomed near and the morning light was soft and grey. He was dressed quickly and had breakfast before he realized the contrast. However lackluster the outdoors seemed, inside teemed with the warmth and brightness of life. Footmen strode about carrying silver trays of savories; several smiling ladies descended the stairs in all of their riding attire, and lords and gentlemen stood in the Great Hall, laughing and nodding in anticipation of the hunt.

Robert Crawley had become one of these men. Back straight and shoulders broad, he looked every bit the future earl that he was. And he felt it. He dutifully made his rounds to each group of guests, encouraging their already high spirits with a laugh or a teasing question of their luck. It was well received. After all, most of their friends and family loved this tradition, the last hunt of the season. It had been happening at Downton since before Robert could even remember. He'd watch with eagerness from the abbey's balcony as dozens of men and women gathered below in the hall, the thrill of the chase rising thickly into the great stone arches of the ceiling. However, he was no longer a boy. He had been permitted to join the hunt for nearly a decade now and rightfully so. There was nothing he enjoyed more than when Downton was the host of such events. Furthermore, there was nothing he enjoyed more than watching the house bustle in excitement, to watch others take delight in the home he so often did.

On the contrary, there was nothing his father despised more. From across the hall, he watched Robert make the rounds as he did the same, checking that everyone had been looked after and inquiring who would be riding out, to alert the stable boys. It wasn't quite that he didn't enjoy the company or the tradition, but all of this busyness made his head hurt. He subconsciously pressed the bridge of his nose with his fingers as he moved from another group of guests. Quite unlike his son, he felt more himself away from Downton, dining in foreign countries and exploring new lands. He and his wife, Violet, did so often, perhaps too often, and he was glad of it. To him Downton Abbey would always be home, where he belonged, but it would also be a perpetually cold labyrinth of rooms, most of which had begun to fall into disrepair. Or at least the ones he deemed unnecessary to keep up. Not that he didn't wish that he could. He couldn't. Not all of the rooms. Money pits. Much like this party. He took a look around at his footmen and their trays. God only knew what they had spent on food alone. That is to say, God and his accounts advisor, Barnes, a man who tolerated very little frivolity. He often condemned Patrick for traveling too often or spending unnecessarily on entertainment, but Patrick saw no way around it. While travel was for his own selfish pleasure, entertainment was something he felt part of his duties as an earl. Barnes usually saw ways around anything. He could not be told no. In fact, they would meet today, this very afternoon, traditional house party or not. Barnes wouldn't be put off.

Patrick could only guess the meaning of the meeting. However, he shook the worry from his thoughts as he caught a glimpse of his bride hurrying her way to him, her blue eyes wide and her strawberry locks bouncing in spite of her intricate hair style. He made his excuses to the group to whom he was speaking. He could tell by the way she sucked on her cheeks that something wasn't quite how she'd planned. A terrible perfectionist in every way, she was a tremendous hostess. And she was well aware of her talent. Indeed, she was well aware of all of her talents.

Cross, Violet was nearly seething. "Where is Rosamund? She should have been down an hour ago." She looked around the hall again, searching for her rosy-haired daughter. Sometimes she thought that Rosamund did these things just to spite her. She was usually correct.

Patrick looked up as well, making a small gesture to Robert, summoning his company.

"Where ever is your sister?" He asked in a low voice as Robert stepped closer.

Robert slightly pouted a lip, raising his chin in search. "I'm not sure. But Marmaduke is there, so she shouldn't be far, Mama." He could see the irritation in his mother's brow and tried to appease it. Violet was not to be trifled with and Rosamund would surely hear of her tardiness.

"Ah, yes, that reminds me, Robert." Patrick raised his head to look to his new son-in-law across the room. He sighed before he looked back to Robert. "Let's try not to lose Painswick today, hmm?"

Robert laughed in his throat. Marmaduke had managed to get lost during the ride yesterday, coming back to the house nearly a half an hour after everyone else. Rosamund was furious at Robert, and Violet was not pleased for the delay in dinner.

Violet raised her brow. "But if you do lose him, let us hope he stays lost this time." Violet was looking to her son-in-law as well. She frowned as part of the savory he ate tumbled down the front of his coat. What Rosamund saw in this common banker was beyond her. At first she assumed it was purely the money, but it now seemed that Rosamund had a genuine affection for him. Again, if only to spite her. She sniffed and waved her hand as she returned to her hostess's duties. It wouldn't do for The Countess of Grantham to stand idly by while there were dozens of guests to entertain.

Robert and his father shared a look as she left. Robert understood. "Right. I'll find her."

He walked through the drawing room, bright blue and gold, with a crystal chandelier and portrait of his great-grandfather and his siblings. She wasn't there. He went through the ladies' sitting room where his mother had her desk, yellows and golds glittering throughout. Not there either. He made his way back through to the library, walls filled with shelves of hundreds of books, some as old as belonging to the first earl. Not there, but on his exit he heard her light laughter drifting toward him. At last he found her, his younger, and more rebellious, sister. Through the open door he could see her standing in a small group in the gravel drive. She held her mouth pursed and grinning, the way she did when she was pleased with herself.

He walked out to meet her, counting the horses that were being readied outside of the front entrance to the house. Their breath fogged in the colder morning air.

She turned as she heard the crunch of the gravel under Robert's boots. "Brother! Good morning."

Robert nodded to her and to the pair she stood with. Lord Hymoth, a baron from near Southampton, and his daughter, Winifred. A quiet, petite girl, Winifred looked very much what one might imagine an angel to look like. She had remarkably fair skin and hair, only to be contrasted by striking dark eyes. The way she moved made her appear to be floating, her gestures soft and light. She smiled politely up at Robert as he greeted them.

Robert could feel Rosamund's eyes on him, and he knew why. Rosamund and his mother rarely agreed on anything, but unfortunately they both agreed on one topic. They both felt it high time that he should begin to think seriously about marriage. And furthermore he knew his mother highly approved of Winifred. Robert disagreed. She was a lovely girl, but he had no interest in marriage. Not yet.

"Good morning, Lord Downton," Winifred said softly. She had a sweet wilting sort of voice. High and soft.

Robert nodded. "Good morning, Madam, Lord Hymoth. I do hope you're both looking forward to the hunt today. It shouldn't be long now. Have you everything you need?"

The older gentleman smiled. "Certainly, my lord. Although, I am worried about my Winifred. This weather is quite a nasty business."

The girl shook her head and pressed her hand to her father's arm. "Oh, please Papa...I'll be perfectly alright. It isn't my first ride."

"All the same, my dear."

Rosamund raised her brows and looked at Robert. She could see he understood Lord Hymoth's underlying intentions in saying it.

"We will be sure to keep her safe from any dangers, won't we Rosamund?"

Oh. How terribly smooth he was, but he wouldn't get off that easily. "Oh, quite sure. But of course, I'll be staying behind to help Mama organize the luncheon. It'll be left to you, Brother. We wouldn't want our dear Winnie to come to harm. Not when we're all so fond of her." Rosamund had the audacity to touch Winifred's sleeve very lightly with her fingers.

Robert felt the need to groan and roll his eyes, but he was bred to behave better, so instead he smiled, nodded, and made a quick excuse to escape, Rosamund following closely behind. As soon as they had made it into the bustle of the Great Hall, he spoke up.

"Please, Rosamund. Don't."

She peered up at her brother with a false expression of innocence, her eyes wide and her brow concerned. "Whatever do you mean?"

Robert sighed and stopped to look down at her. "You know precisely what I mean. Don't I have enough pressure from Mama?"

Rosamund didn't want to be grouped with her mother, especially if it was against Robert. She enjoyed her brother's company. They'd always been close, considering how different they were, but she couldn't help but to push the matter.

"Yes, of course. But you see, I can't help but to think of you here with only Mama and Papa for company. It's horrid. I feel terribly guilty."

"Please, don't." Robert tilted his head to his sister and then looked out across the Great Hall. A warmth swelled in his chest at the sight. "I'm very happy here."

Rosamund wasn't so sure. "Even without another? Perhaps just a companion? It isn't unheard of..."

Robert interrupted. "Yes."

"Very well," she sighed. "If you insist." She gave her brother a small pat on his arm before stepping into the fray. Robert watched Rosamund walk closer to their mother and roll her eyes at the words their mother said. He laughed inwardly, but soon felt the presence of someone standing closely behind him. He slowly turned and saw Winifred there. She, too, was looking at his mother and sister before her gaze went up to the balcony, to all of the crests adorning the wall. The crests of each earl and his wife joined as one, even his own mother and father. His and his wife's would be there one day as well, and he felt a creeping discomfort from standing so closely to this woman. He didn't speak, but gazed as well until his eyes came to rest on Rosamund and Violet, studying him and his companion rather intently. He wanted to give no false impression, so he walked quickly away and to his father to wait for the hunt to begin.

And soon it did.

The ground was soft and muddy from the rain last night and early this morning, and the sound of the horses' hooves was deep and dense on the saturated earth. Riders rode all around, and true to his word, Robert rode alongside Winnie, sneaking quick searches for Marmaduke. To save him, however, he had also managed to convince his cousin, James, to do the same.

James was married, but his wife's fair excuse for not joining the hunt this year was that she was expecting their first child. Everyone was very happy for it. The two had been married for two years and a long two years it seemed. Robert was quite sure of one thing - if there was any marriage that helped him to prolong the whole idea of matrimony, it was James's. Of course, James was rather a rough individual, and his marriage was one of long separations and of few things in common. While Robert never expected to marry for love, as most people in his position never did, he also did not expect to marry purely for his parents' sake. James and his wife, Emma, had done so and this was the result: an unhappy marriage forced to appear happy. He could think of nothing more miserable. Even if there was no love, surely it wouldn't be difficult to be content. Not quite happy, but pleased with the peace of it all. Robert watched as James rode hard before Robert and Winifred, his horse kicking up mud on the way back toward the house. James was not content.

Robert looked over to Winifred as they galloped along, closer and closer to the house. She was immaculately clean, though he didn't know how. She'd ridden through the same muck that everyone else had done, hadn't she?

As they reached the far reaches of the yard, they slowed. James, however, still hurried to the house, Marmaduke in his wake. Robert drew his horse next to Winnie's and smiled.

"Quite fun, isn't it?"

She offered a small smile in return. "Yes, quite. Though I confess I will find as much joy in cleaning up before luncheon."

Robert raised his brows under his hat. Another rider rode by, kicking up dirt and mud. "I must say you don't look a bit mussed."

She lifted her chin. "Oh, that's kind of you to say, but really. I do not enjoy mud or dirt."

Robert let out a laugh, for he thought she was trying to be light-hearted, but then realized after seeing her expression that she was in fact serious.

He descended his horse and waited for her to descend as well before entering the house again. It was the same bustle and excitement as before, but this time with a layer of dust and dirt. As Winifred took her leave, James approached Robert.

"Winnie Glynn, then? She's a pretty one."

Robert sighed. "Yes, pretty."

James could sense his cousin's vexation and so, following him up the stairs, inquired further. "Come now, Robert. It can't be all bad, especially if they're throwing Winnie at you. There are worse things to happen."

He turned to James on the landing and then looked down at his father, mother, and sister as they greeted the others back from the ride. "No, it isn't bad at all, only, she's very, I don't know, plain. Mama, however, would encourage the match, certainly."

James gaped. "Plain?" He nearly shouted. He drew closer to Robert and lowered his voice. "I say, chap, but do you feel alright? Hmm? Everything in working order? If so, I'm not sure how you think her plain."

James was incorrigible. "Not plain in the physical sense, surely. She's quite attractive. Plain in other ways...".

"However plain her personality, I assure you, cousin, that it doesn't matter much when you're wed. She'll be yours for the taking. Now, considering her dullness, certainly you'll want more excitement in the bedroom..."

Robert scoffed and began to ascend the stairs quickly, but James followed closely behind.

"...but there are others for that. Other women who I promise you aren't quite so plain in that area."

Robert turned on his cousin so quickly that James in reaction took a step backward and laughed, "What? Surely my words do not shock you."

Robert stood taller, "Certainly not, but I dare say planning one's extra-marital affairs before one's even wed seems quite a bad omen for the marriage."

He looked curiously at Robert, and furrowed his brows. "Don't tell me. No." He shook his head and looked away. Robert sighed in agitation, "What?" James's eyes came back to his.

"You aren't waiting for love, are you?" James lifted a heavy brow. He stared deeply into Robert's blue eyes with his own.

Robert answered truthfully. "No. I'm not as naive as all that."

"I should hope not." James moved past Robert, and now it was Robert's turn to follow him through the hall.

"Though, when I do marry I would rather like someone who doesn't bore me, to be able to have a decent conversation with the girl. Surely you'd agree with that."

James laughed lightly before he turned around. His long, handsome face was smiling in a patronizing sort of way. "Yes, I'll agree to that. That is, I'll agree and leave it be if you agree to this."

Robert narrowed his eyes.

"When you come to London next month, you'll allow me to introduce you to someone."

"For God's sake, James!" Robert became frustrated. Didn't he have enough people forcing him into in the matrimonial role? "Am I not free to make any of my own decisions?"

"So, you promise, then?"

Robert was unsure. He'd been tricked by his older cousin before. "How am I to be sure that who I am meeting isn't..." He lowered his voice, "isn't like the one you introduced me to last summer."

James let out a laugh and patted Robert's shoulder, "No. No, she's no lady of pleasure. I know how you disapprove." He studied Robert for a moment and then continued more seriously. "Although I don't altogether approve of marriage, you know it must be done. Especially for our sort of people. And quite especially for you."

Robert hummed in response. James continued.

"But I won't blame you for stalling. You're young. Be young. I do so wish that I still could." With that James walked into the room in which he was staying and the door closed on Robert.

Truthfully he hadn't thought of how to put his reasons against marriage into words, but what James said had struck a chord. He did feel too young to have a wife. Furthermore, he felt he should have more experience, but of what he wasn't sure. Making his way back through to his room, he paused momentarily to look down into the Great Hall once again. Everyone had since dispersed, leaving only his father's accounts advisor, Barnes. Robert watched as his papa walked forward to greet him, extending his hand toward the library.

He felt the weight of his son's stare and looked up at Robert as he walked through, a strange sense of foreboding nipping at his heels.

* * *

The day had ended with rumbles of soft thunder in the distance. Some of the guests had left for the station after the luncheon, a week of riding, hunting, and Downton grandeur being quite enough. A few remained until the morrow, resting now after the quietest dinner of the week. The feel of happy exhaustion settled on the house with the sunset, and another blanket of storm clouds gathered overhead.

In his room, Patrick couldn't rest. He laid in the dark, adding the figures countless times, all arriving at the same summation. Total defeat. And embarrassment. There had to be something missing. There had to be an account gone unnoticed. Although it wasn't at all like Barnes to have anything go unnoticed, Patrick would happily forgive him if he had. He found himself hoping that he had.

He sat up quickly, wrapped a housecoat around him, and fumbled his way to the door. He peeked out into the hallway and stepped into the moonlit passage. He paused for a moment by his wife's door, his hand on the cold knob. The weight of guilt drooped his shoulders and he let out a heavy breath. He slowly released the knob and moved onward.

Robert could sleep neither. He closed his book, finished, and sighed. The candle next to him sputtered and he looked at it, watching the flame dance, casting shadows on the walls of his room.

He drummed a bit on his book, his thoughts preoccupied by the lingering Winifred. His mother had insisted they sit next to each other at dinner. She smiled and was pleasant, but conversation felt forced and unnatural.

Robert looked at the cover of his book and swung his legs out of bed. Gathering his housecoat and house shoes, he grabbed his book and candle, and headed for the library. He'd read away his thoughts of dinner.

He shuffled quietly down the stairs and toward the library. Before he entered, however, he heard the soft scratching of paper on paper. Candlelight flickered in the doorway.

He slowly entered, standing still at the sight that met him. His father was hunched over his desk, accounts books and expenditure logs scattered about. The air felt tense and Robert swallowed as he watched his father frantically point at one thing and then another.

"Papa?"

Patrick spun around, surprised, several papers still in his clasped fist. Robert stood near the doorway, holding a solitary candle, the light reflecting on his face. His countenance was a mixture of both shock and worry. Patrick looked back at his desk, books and papers scattered, then at the candelabra on top of it.

"Papa, what's happened?"

Patrick heard Robert's voice from behind him, deep and steady. He could barely face it. How could he tell his boy, his heir, that he had lost it all? A sudden wave of nausea washed over him and he grasped his chair behind him, lowering himself into it.

Robert came to his father, full of concern. He placed his book and candle next to the candelabra and touched with light fingers the books and papers his father had been scouring. Estate business. He looked down on his father. He rested his arm on the chair in which he sat, his greying head cradled in his hand, eyes shut. The image of Barnes below in the Great Hall this afternoon appeared before Robert's eyes.

"Papa," Robert knelt before his father. "What has happened?"

Patrick took in a breath and lifted his heavy head. He looked around before meeting his son's gaze. When he did, he didn't see the boy he always had, but rather the future earl.

He began as plainly as he could. "It's all gone."

Robert waited. Patrick spoke again.

"All of it." He shook his head and sat up straighter. "Nearly all of it."

He stood, bending his head over the books again, this time his denial dissipating and his disappointment consuming him.

Robert understood, but couldn't make himself believe. He still knelt, but looked up at the figure of his father in the candlelight.

"I haven't even told your mother. But you," he looked down at Robert. The news had spread to his son's eyes, wide and alarmed, and Patrick felt his chest clutch tightly. "You ought to know first."

There was silence, a heavy suffocating silence, before Robert looked away and at the floor. He didn't have to ask what his father meant. He knew. He knew the financial predicaments that had been teetering on the edge of failure for the past several years. He had been privy to it at the select meetings he witnessed, and as he and his father would walk the farms. He looked up at the library walls. The books so rich in history and tradition danced in the candlelight happily, seemingly mocking him. It hurt.

"What will happen?" His voice seemed very far away. Seemed very unlike himself. "Obviously the title remains, but what of Downton?"

Patrick looked out at the library as well, the same one that had seen so many of his memories. Though he did enjoy his holidays elsewhere, Downton was the place he was born, the place where his children were born. The place where he someday hoped to die. His voice cracked as he spoke. "Downton will go."

The words were a knife in Robert's heart.


	3. Chapter Three

Cora walked into the busy train station with her father and her father's manservant, looking over the heads and hats of the crowd. Steam of engines swirled in the air and around the ground. It moved the delicate feathers in ornate hats and rustled the petticoats of the women around her. Her aunt's train had just arrived and everywhere she looked there were families, friends, and lovers greeting one another happily. Sweet words danced in the air with the steam. The tender pucker of kisses floated around her ears. It excited her.

Aunt Ruth was a person Cora had always been close to, at least closer to than her mother. While she still held her place as older and wiser, Cora could always confide in her aunt without the feeling of embarrassment or judgment, she could not say the same for Martha. And although her aunt lived in New York City as well, in a rather small, but upscale, apartment, they too often went quite some time without seeing one another. It wasn't that they didn't care to, but both kept busy. Cora with trying to improve her social standing by attending parties and lunches, and Ruth by the dinners and events her husband, an important Wall Street trader, dragged her to. But now, although her aunt would only stay a week, it was plenty enough time to begin to feel like herself again, and not the Cora of the social season.

At last she spotted her. Wearing a burgundy hat with large black curls underneath, Ruth's face lit up as her niece waved to get her attention. She motioned for her maid to stay with her bags as she walked swiftly to meet Cora and Isidore.

With arms outstretched, Cora greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, "Aunt Ruth, how wonderful," and a kiss on the other, "to see you!"

Ruth's older brother was less enthused, but nonetheless glad. He gave a nod and a crooked smile. "How was your trip? Do you have many bags?"

She returned the smile generously. "The trip was fair enough, and yes, Isi. You know I never travel lightly."

The three chuckled and Cora gave her aunt another quick embrace as Isidore sent his man to collect his sister's bags and maid.

Cora looked over her aunt's features, noticing the same short nose and round eyes of her father. She bent and picked up the small bag that Ruth had carried with her, and exhaled in a happy huff.

"Come then, let's get home. Mother and Harold are so excited to see you."

Isidore nodded in agreement and extended his hand toward the waiting carriage on the other end of the depot. Cora took the lead holding tightly to her aunt's arm, and they made their way through the throngs of others kissing hello and goodbye, bags at their feet and on the carts around them.

At last they made it to the carriage. The manservant was strapping the bags to the top, but stopped to help Cora inside and then the others. She sat in the carriage, the noises more muffled now and the heat of the sun off of her skin. She absentmindedly smoothed out the bunches of her skirt as her aunt and father sat and settled themselves. She looked up into her aunt's face and smiled, feeling the relief of having her here wash over her again.

"I really am so glad to see you. You don't know how much I long for someone else to talk to." She sighed sweetly, tilting her head ever so slightly.

Isidore looked up from adjusting his vest and looked across at his daughter. Her words twisted in his chest like a cramp. It pained him to think her lonely. But although he knew she felt blue, her clear bright eyes were sparkling, even in the shadows of the carriage and the shadow of her white, flowery hat.

Ruth smiled in return, warmly, and reached across the carriage to place her hand on her niece's.

"Oh, pretty Cora, I am so glad to have come." She squeezed Cora's slender gloved fingers and sat back again. "And we'll have plenty to talk about this week, don't worry a bit about that." She giggled and met her brother's eyes. "Martha had written that the balls had already begun. How exciting. I did bring my good party dress."

Cora raised her brows and moved a bit in her seat. Her older relatives looked at her. "You won't be needing it much, I'm afraid. It's been rather dull in Newport this season."

Isidore felt the cramp again.

Ruth exchanged a glance with her brother and then returned her gaze to Cora. She was kind, a wonderful conversationalist, and lovely. Even prettier than when she had seen her last. There wasn't any obvious reason she wouldn't be attracting proper attention. "Surely it isn't as gloomy as you make it sound. Martha says you've already been to one party."

Cora shrugged. "No, I suppose it's not." Her thoughts wandered back to the ball. She remembered in her blurry, warm haze of drinks how Henry had leaned closer and closer. She shuddered.

Ruth noticed the change in her niece, but sat a little deeper in the carriage seat and smiled. There would be time to understand, and sitting with Isidore now was not the time for it.

The carriage rolled around to the front of the house where the door of the trap was opened and the three occupants were helped out one by one.

Ruth stepped onto the gravel and looked up at the house in front of her. A large porch wrapped around the entirety of the white exterior, dozens of brick chimney stacks rising up to the sky, stained glass windows glittering in the shimmering light. Their summerhouse overlooked the bay, situated on a cliff above it. The lawn was beautifully manicured, hedges carefully planted into neat lines. Because of the terrain there weren't many flowers, but it appeared the gardeners were making a bit of an effort.

Her eyes settled on the porch, and on Cora, clad in her white and yellow dress with the lace at the collar and cuffs. She looked like a ray of sunshine standing there on the porch. Martha walked through the open front door, passing Isidore as he went inside. Her red hair was shining in the sun and her smile was glistening in the light. Harold followed behind her.

She opened her arms and descended the stairs toward her. "Ruth!"

Ruth met her sister-in-law with an embrace and wrapped her arm through Martha's offered one. Together they ascended the porch stairs again, stopping by Harold. He gave his aunt a kiss on the cheek.

"Glad to see you've made it safely," he mumbled.

Ruth rubbed Harold's shoulder blade lovingly before they all followed Cora into the house, talking niceties.

Cora turned and stood in the middle of their great room, bright with painted sunlight through the many stained windows. She watched her aunt look around her home, smiling. She noticed that her hat had become crooked.

"Well, Aunt Ruth, now that you're here, what would you like to do? Rest? Unpack?"

Ruth shook her head. She had sat for long enough in her own thoughts while on the train. "Coffee and chit chat."

Cora smiled and Martha clapped in approval.

Harold cleared his throat uncomfortably. The ladies looked at him.

"Then I shall go. Afraid I've never been any good at chit-chat." He bowed from the room as they laughed appreciatively.

Martha called Taylor forward and asked her to bring coffee out to the porch as Cora and Ruth decided quietly to take off their hats.

The three sat outside, stirring their coffees and picking up tiny cakes and cookies as they talked. There were light giggles and relaxed sighs as they got more and more comfortable.

They spoke of mutual acquaintances, of Harold, of new party dresses. After a short while, the conversation inevitably led to Cora. Ruth leaned back in her chair. She narrowed her eyes in disbelief at the statements that Cora and her mother so plainly made.

"So you mean to tell me, pretty Cora, that there is no special boy? No handsome suitor out for you? I can't believe it."

Cora pressed her lips together and let out a small laugh while Martha laid her spoon on the table. She answered for her daughter.

"Well, of course there are some, but no one we much care for. The nicer ones are simply much too common. Interestingly though, Henry Stanford is after her."

Ruth raised her brows and widened her dark eyes. She had heard that name before. "Henry Stanford? As in the railway tycoon Stanfords?"

Martha nodded, "Yes. And wouldn't you know that Cora hasn't the slightest intention of pursuing it. But then, I don't particularly blame her."

Cora tilted her head toward her mother and took in a deep breath. "Perhaps I should."

There was silence. Ruth looked back and forth between mother and daughter. This was a new development and Martha was completely taken aback. She managed to stammer, "What?"

Cora swallowed. It wasn't how she wanted to tell her mother, but she had decided that she needed to be a realist. She couldn't wait much longer for many more debutants to come out and catch his eye. "He may be the most decent suitor I receive. He comes from an excellent family."

Her aunt leaned forward and looked at both Cora and Martha. "What do you mean? Why is that? Surely not the 'new money' excuse." Ever since Cora had come out two summers ago, there had been the struggle of making a proper match. She had many admirers, but many of which did not have the family reputation that Cora would need to survive in society. She knew this, but didn't expect there to be a lack of suitors.

Cora said exactly what Ruth knew to be the truth. "We're afraid that if I don't marry into a well-established, respectable family that it will limit any future prospects."

She shook her head with furrowed brows. "Future prospects?"

"Future prospects for myself, obviously. And my children. Money can only get your foot in the door, as Mother says. A name gives you a place at the table."

Ruth watched the way Martha studied her daughter. She did so with a sadness around her eyes, but with a hint of pride at her smile.

Cora shrugged and continued, "After all, Henry's family is a strong one. I'll be welcome to every event in polite society. And not to mention the authority the Stanfords possess. His uncle has even founded his own university in California...".

"Do you like him?"

Cora brought her eyes to Ruth at the interruption. It surprised her to be asked such a thing. Did it matter? She looked into her coffee cup, and then wiggled a bit in her chair, thinking of the most mature and tactful way to approach the response. "I don't dislike him."

She could feel her mother staring. She could feel her aunt narrowing her eyes and leaning toward her. It unnerved her. She imagined the scenes she'd been playing out in her mind since Henry had tried to kiss her at the ball. Him leaning over her, him holding her at night, him holding her child. It was met with the same feeling she felt as she saw him approaching her with lust in his eyes, just as she escaped his clutches. With a tempest of disgust in her stomach, she swallowed hard. She placed her cup on the table and closed her eyes suddenly. She let it out. "Oh, I don't know. I don't know what to think anymore. I know he'll give me a position, a respectable name, but he's so odd. I don't find him at all interesting or attractive. Honestly the thought of him touching me...well...well it makes my skin crawl."

Ruth reached across the table for Cora's hand. "Then don't pursue it. Simple."

Cora opened her eyes and looked at her aunt and then her mother. She closed her eyes again. "Simple?" She sighed and looked out to the bay. "Nothing is simple. I know I won't love my husband, but I should at least like him, shouldn't I? Oh, what am I to do? Marry someone I like and be an outcast forever?"

Ruth squeezed her hand a tad harder and shook her head sympathetically. She understood the predicament, but surely there was an answer. She wracked her brain. Cora wasn't the first girl to have to make this jump into society.

She was pulled from her thoughts as Cora slid her fingers from her grasp. She watched as she touched her cup and smiled.

"It's alright." She lifted her chin. "I can make the most of it. Even if he is...who he is...I can make the most of it."

Silence.

She opened her mouth to speak again, but was stopped as her aunt put down her cup with a clink on the saucer.

"The London season."

The words were short, but said with purpose. Both Cora and Martha looked at Ruth unsure and confused as to what she meant. She looked determined. Her eyes were wide and excited as she searched their perplexed ones.

At last Cora spoke to try to make sense of it. "London? As in London, England?"

"Yes." Ruth nodded confidently. "Attend the London season."

Martha pulled back her head. "I'm not sure I understand. What? Why? Why would we go there for a social season? What is in England besides tea and bad weather?"

Ruth stuck out her chin after a tiny shake of her head. "Aristocracy." She said it in way that made the word glitter like gold.

Martha and Cora looked to one another, to see if the other understood. Neither did. At least, not right away.

Ruth saw the confusion and put both of her hands flat on the tablecloth before her. She leaned toward them. "Do you remember Annette Thompson?"

Annette was another first generation of wealth girl. Although thin with thick, curly locks of chestnut hair, she wasn't astoundingly attractive, but she was very energetic. She was very skilled in using her charisma as her beauty. So, yes. Cora did remember. She had liked Annette. She nodded, "She came out two years before me."

Ruth continued, "She lives there now, in England. Married to an earl. Her mother, Claudia, wrote to me just last week. She went to the social season last year, and then was married last fall." She sat back as the other ladies calculated her meaning.

Martha was suspicious. "How?"

"Well, it appears that she had the money to make herself worth some lord's while, and he had the title to give her a position."

Cora let her eyes settle downward as she listened.

Martha spoke, "What are you saying, she had the money?"

"Well..."

"She gave all her money to some foreigner just to live as...as...what is an earl's wife?"

"A countess." Cora answered without looking up.

"Right," Martha nodded, glancing at her daughter. "A countess."

Ruth shook her head. "No, not all of her money. Some of it went to her husband's family, of course, as a dowry. But the rest is still hers. She can withdraw it at any time. And someday it will belong to her children, as part of their inheritance. Claudia was insistent on that point."

Martha inched forward on her seat. "There has to be some element that I'm missing. Why on Earth would an English earl choose an American girl? How did this happen?"

Cora looked up at her aunt, who let out a breath and explained as much as she knew. "I understand that Claudia has a cousin there, a Richard something or other. She and Annette stayed with him, going to some of the various balls and dinners he was invited to. Annette met Lord Falton and he seemed to be immediately attracted. He was kind and interested. Claudia could find no fault in him, and neither could her husband. So they allowed courtship and soon Annette was married."

Martha raised her brows and pouted her lip. "No. I know it's not from mere attraction. It's the money. It's got to be. An English earl wouldn't choose a young American girl to be his wife without some sort of large financial agreement."

Ruth shrugged. "Well, whatever the reason, Annette is perfectly happy." She looked at Cora who met her gaze.

Martha looked from her sister-in-law to her daughter. She could see the unsaid words between them. She began to shake her head before Cora spoke.

"Mother," Cora turned in her chair and placed a hand on her mother's lap. "Mother, I'd like to try."

"No."

"Please, Mother. It's only for one summer. One social season."

Martha gave a short guffaw. "One season? And what if you make your match? Hmm? What then? And besides, I don't want you parading your father's money around in order to make a match."

Cora couldn't believe what she was hearing. After every ball, every luncheon, every coming out party when her mother insisted she look her very best. And for what? "What would be the difference?" She heard her voice grow and increase an octave, and she breathed through the emotion.

"The difference," Martha began, "is that these English men will be solely after your money! There will be no emotion other than greed. And if you do marry, you'll be an ocean away. You'll be in a land of strangers with odd traditions and societal rules that don't have any place in the modern world. Don't you see? You'll be alone."

Cora looked up to the ceiling of her porch. "And married or not, I shall be alone here as well!" She calmed as her mother looked at her quietly. "Mother, I'm so very tired of the looks and the snide remarks. I'm tired of having to entertain men who bore me or disgust me simply because of who their fathers are."

Martha sighed and looked away from Cora. She didn't want to hear this, but her daughter persisted. She grabbed her hands in her own and peered up into her mother's face.

"I'm tired of being the one who wants. I want to know what it's like to be wanted."

She said nothing. Cora continued.

"Even by foreign fortune hunters."

Martha blinked as she looked into her daughter's pleading eyes. She was too young to make this decision. She was too young to know what she was doing. But then, she was too young to feel unwanted.

"There may be long reaching effects of your decision, Cora. Do you understand that?"

Cora's face broke into a smile. She nodded.

"And you understand that these men will say anything to you, anything, to make you believe that they love you. That they want you."

Again a nod.

Martha grinned. "But, I suppose I would like to see the expression on Miriam Astor's face when she learns I'm the mother of a duchess."

Cora let out a laugh and squeezed her mother's hands. "We'll have things to discuss with your father, Cora," Martha looked at Ruth, "but perhaps you should write to Claudia and Annette. We'll need a place to stay."

* * *

The week had passed with little respite from the rain. Robert felt it highly symbolic. The earth would have no relief from the constant pellets of raindrops while he would have no relief from the constant gnawing feelings of worry. Downton. His Downton, to be sold piece by piece to someone, perhaps to many someones, who wouldn't appreciate the true value of the estate. They wouldn't know how the first earl accumulated the piece of King Charles I that now hung in the dining room. They wouldn't understand why Robert's grandfather first hired a local librarian to arrange and care for the numerous volumes in the library. They wouldn't stand at that place upon the hill and look with a melting sort of warmth at the grand structure before them. They would see the tangible - the plaster, brick, and glass. They couldn't ever see what Robert saw: his home. His birthright. The only place he ever imagined his future unfolding. But now, now that it would not come to pass, it felt as if someone had woken him from a dream and he realized with a start that he was someone else entirely than who he believed to be.

He had lain awake every night for the past few days going over scenarios in his mind. Coming up with solutions. Until, yesterday, in the wee hours of the morning, he decided upon one. And now, this morning as he prepared to sit down to breakfast, he would tell his father.

Patrick glazed over several articles in the morning paper, his thoughts elsewhere, as they had been for the past several days. He could sense the presence of his son behind him, filling his plate with eggs, mushrooms, and sausage. He could hear the scrape of the silverware and the clink of the metal servers. He could also hear the seemingly ever-present tapping of the gentle rain that would not cease.

Robert sat next to his father and put his napkin into his lap. His eyes went from his plate and up to Walters, the butler, standing by the buffet. Ever-loyal Walters who had known Robert since he was born. Where would he go when Downton was no longer the Crawleys'? Surely not to live in London, with a country earl who no longer had a countryseat.

He took in a breath and slowly let it out.

"Have you told Mama?"

His father rustled his newspaper as he turned the page. "Told her what?"

There was silence, so reluctantly, Patrick peeked over the paper at his son. Robert stared intently at him, almost challengingly. He knew what. He resumed regarding his paper, but acquiesced and answered, "I have not." Truthfully, he didn't know how.

There was no response to his admittance, but the sound of Robert's utensils scratching the glass of the plate reassured him he could continue his reading. But he couldn't. He couldn't think of anything else with Robert, his heir, sitting beside him.

Soon the sounds of Robert's breakfast quieted.

He had begun to watch his father behind the paper, quietly and thoughtfully. He spoke.

"I've written to Barnes and Murray."

Patrick furrowed his brows but did not drop his paper to see his son.

Robert continued. "I've asked for them to conduct some research."

He didn't understand. What research would his accounts advisor and his young solicitor be able to conduct. Shaking his head, he asked, "Research?"

Robert, however, was keenly aware of Walters in the room and glanced at him before deciding his explanation. The man didn't deserve to learn of potential unemployment in that way. "Yes. I've asked them to look into the families of Winifred Glynn and Elisa Knitton."

He picked up his fork and knife, beginning to feel eager to return to his meal.

However, Patrick still spoke from behind the newspaper. "Have you?"

"I have." Robert paused. It was time to inform him of his decided course of action. "I feel I must know something of my potential bride. Figures and the like."

This time there was silence on the other side of the paper. It was slowly lowered and Patrick stared at his son, his mouth slightly agape. After a moment, he closed it and cleared his throat.

"Yes. Yes, I quite agree."

He continued to look for a moment more, his eyes softened considerably from what he suddenly understood. And then, with a nod, he lifted the paper once more.

Now hungrier, Robert popped a piece of sausage into his mouth. It tasted better than anything had all week.


	4. Chapter Four

"'In short, our findings suggest, my lord, that neither lady in question will inherit the substantial amount needed to absolve the sum of the debts accrued.'" James frowned after reading the statement and raised his eyebrow, scanning the rest of the letter. He leaned over, giving it back to his cousin, who, after taking it, slumped back into his chair.

"Therefore, no Winnie Glynn?" He took a drag on his cigar and puffed out the smoke. He thought of the curve of her waist. "More's the pity."

Robert, still sunk into the plushness of the chair, raised his brows. "No Winnie Glynn?" He sat up and took the drink from the table next to him. "No Downton." He gulped it down, hoping to get drunk, but having very little luck. He peered into the empty glass, as if examining it would fill it once more. But it wouldn't. Similarly, his plan that he had felt confident in pursuing now felt empty and nauseating. He whispered aloud his feeling of incompetence. "Now I fear I'm out of options."

James couldn't help but to give a snort in the back of his throat. "If you're downcast and given up because those two old fools haven't any money to give their daughters, then I say you're not as determined as I thought you to be."

Robert looked up at his cousin, who was lazily smoking his cigar. Smoke swirled around his red billiard room, drifting toward the ceiling and lingering in the candlelight. The sound of hooves on the street below echoed in the night.

James continued with an air of nonchalance. "I dare say there are other girls, Robert. Other girls with more money. I told you I'd introduce you."

Robert had relaxed back into the chair. He gave a sigh as he stared up at the ceiling. "What an ugly business this is all turning out to be," he mumbled to himself.

"Ugly business indeed. Wait until tomorrow, then, for Lady Helen is far from ugly. You'll be pleased, I well assure you." James chuckled at his younger cousin's woes.

But Robert didn't remove his eyes from the ceiling. He found himself nearly grinning at the irony of her name. "A face that could launch a thousand ships, hmm? Let's hope she can afford a thousand ships."

"What?" James's voice was strained with annoyance. "Don't try to be clever, Robert. No one ever finds it funny."

Well, truthfully he didn't even find himself funny, come to that. He didn't find himself funny or clever and rather wanted to go back to his home in Yorkshire instead of socialize. Then James held his cigar still and looked pointedly at Robert, almost as if his cousin read his mind.

"You gave me your word, I'll have you remember. You gave me your word that you'd allow me to make this introduction."

Robert sat up in the chair with a sigh. James had reminded him of this at least four separate times this evening. "Of course, and I plan on keeping it. I've got to marry someone and I can't damn well do so if I haven't met her."

James hummed and tapped the ashes from his cigar. "Good. We've already sent word to Lady Whitmere."

"I know." Robert looked his cousin in the eye and then added something he knew would set his teeth on edge. "She's invited Mama as well."

His actions stopped abruptly and his eyes widened something considerably. "How's that?"

"Lady Whitmere hadn't realized we were in London yet, and she'd like to see Mama."

James rolled his head, stretching the irritation from his neck with closed eyes. Aunt Violet was a callous on his heel, always meddling in his plans and stopping their execution. "Oh, bloody hell," he hissed.

Robert nodded because frankly he quite agreed. His mother would be sure to make the affair a trying one, especially now that she understood the predicament they all found themselves in and how Robert meant to rectify it. She had been suggesting names and families for days, but then looking at Robert disdainfully whenever he brought up the amount he would need. Speaking of his mother, he was sure she'd have his head if he weren't home soon. He sluggishly pulled out a watch from his coat and squinted at the time. "It's approaching midnight. I should be off to Grantham House. I shouldn't keep Carson waiting."

"Very well," James said from his seat. As he watched his cousin leave he called after him, "I'll see you tomorrow night at Lord and Lady Whitmere's. Lady Helen shall be waiting to meet you."

The call was returned, "And let us hope that there is a large dowry waiting to meet her."

James narrowed his eyes. "I've told you before. You aren't witty."

Robert shrugged. He wasn't trying to be.

* * *

Cora stretched in the soft sheets of the bed and opened her eyes. Light streamed into the room and the noises of horses' hooves and birds' songs were muffled through the glass. She sat up in the bed then and curled her back, stretching it. She groaned from the pleasure of it. Hearing another bird chirp caught her attention and she smiled at the way it sing-songed outside the glass of her window. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and padded across the room. It was very bright out, but it was hard to say what time it was. The sun rose so much earlier here than at home. She moved the lacy curtain with her fingertips and looked down into the street. Pink blossoms filled the trees, a nanny pushed a pram with soft white blankets tucked inside, and carriages rolled past behind trotting horses. She smiled. London. It wasn't too unlike New York in the way that it was a large city, but very unlike it in the way that is was somehow much quieter. The first few days of her arrival were damp and grey, the London fog suffocatingly beautiful, but yesterday the sun began to shine and she'd strolled through parks, seen Buckingham Palace, and stood in Leicester Square letting the sound of everyone's melodic speech twirl around her.

Annette had come with her, escorting her and showing her the sights she was thrilled to see when she first arrived. As they walked along, her chaperone would occasionally smooth the fabric over the small swell of her abdomen, starkly reminding Cora, in a way she didn't expect, what her goal was whilst here. It wasn't a vacation, or holiday as Lord Falton had called it, but rather something else entirely. One day this could be home. And looking at Annette's barely conspicuous pregnancy reminded her it would be her children's home as well. They would have the accent she at first found simply charming and not her own American one. They would wear their light coats well into the month of May, when their relatives in America had put their winter clothes away for weeks. They would say words like holiday and pram when for her they'd always been vacation and baby carriage. All of this was to be, of course, if she indeed made a match. And the 'if' loomed large.

She turned from the window at several soft knocks at the door. She suddenly felt very aware of the near transparency of her nightgown in the sunbathed room.

Annette poked her head in. "Good morning, my friend." She grinned, her plain features easily blossoming into beauty. "May I come in?"

Cora smiled at her and nodded, "Of course!" She moved to the settee to gather her housecoat and put it on. Annette wouldn't mind, but Cora still felt a touch shy around the girl they were staying with. She hadn't seen her in at least a year and a half, and before then they were never particularly close. They only ever had two things in common: outrageous amounts of money and a dreadfully dull last name.

Annette came in quietly and closed the door behind her, holding the knob behind her back and leaning against the door. She watched as her guest pulled the housecoat onto her arms and pulled her nearly black hair from underneath it, letting it settle back upon her shoulder.

"Cora."

She raised her eyebrows at her name, and waited. In the silence the air between them grew expectantly.

"He's asked for you. Pearce has just told me. He's asked if you'll be there tonight."

Cora stood frozen for a moment and then tugged her housecoat closer to her body. Her heart beat harder.

"Viscount Raynham?" She nearly whispered.

Annette nodded. "Pearce says he thought you were...what were his words...oh yes," she paused for effect, "'exotically charming' at dinner last night." Her eyes were big as she said it, and she drew out the words, enunciating each syllable with passion. She couldn't help but think it a good sign. A sign that everything was going to plan. Cora had indeed attracted someone quite eligible. It took Annette nearly a month to do so, but Cora had done it in only two weeks' time. It pleased her. She found almost as much pleasure in helping Cora's position as she did her own. It felt an appropriate version of retaliation for all of the unwelcome stares she had received as a Thompson all those years. And it gladdened her to help the Levinson girl.

Cora, on the other hand, wasn't as enthused. It made her happy to hear it, but she knew her mother would have something else to say about it. He's after one thing, to which Cora would nod and reaffirm that yes, yes she knew. But all the same, she noticed how her mother did try to remain optimistic.

She blinked, trying to form into words what she was thinking. "I...I wouldn't quite call America very exotic, but...my gracious. Did he really say that?"

Annette nodded again. She moved from the door and took Cora's hands in her own. She noticed how cold they were, and she squeezed them. "Pearce says he'll be there tonight, at Lord and Lady Whitmere's."

Lord and Lady Whitmere's ball. The first English ball that Cora had been invited to. She had been nervously counting down the hours since she learned of the invite three days ago. She breathed heavily as she studied her hostess's excitement. She swallowed. "May I ask you something?"

Annette smiled warmly and gave her hands another squeeze. Cora continued. "Was Lord Falton as impassioned?"

Annette knitted her brows in confusion, so Cora tried to clarify. "I mean to say, was he as zealous to court and woo you as Viscount Raynham appears to be to court and woo me? Are all English lords like this? Am I to expect this?"

She laughed. "Oh, heavens no. Pearce was as timid and as gentle as a lamb. I was under the impression he barely noticed me until he proposed."

"Oh." Cora felt both excited and nervous by her admission. Perhaps this viscount truly liked her. No, no. Her mother's voice echoed in her ears. He's after one thing.

Annette leaned toward Cora and caught her attention. "And, darling, it's Lord Raynham. He's never to be addressed as Viscount." She corrected her gently, with a quiet voice.

However gentle, her heart still sank into her stomach and she felt her face burn hot. She recounted every conversation from the night before. "Oh God. But I called him Viscount all evening."

Annette laughed again. Her husband, Pearce, had mentioned that. "I'm sure he thought it was adorable. Now, I'll send in the maid and leave you to dress. Your mother has already had breakfast and has been asking for you." She shook Cora's hands a bit before she headed for the door. As she opened it, she looked back and gave her a quick and reassuring smile.

"And don't worry. Tonight will be wonderful!"

* * *

Lord and Lady Whitmere's London home was one of the grandest in town. The ballroom alone seemed to stretch on and on and the ceilings were tall and airy, two chandeliers sparkling above their guests' heads. It was easy to get lost amongst the crowd, and yet it seemed from every corner one could see everyone in the room.

Robert stood in one of these corners, watching guests dance and others stand along the wall and converse with others. He could see his mother from where he stood, sitting in all her glamour and elegance, speaking with the Duchess of Trafford.

He released a heavy breath and began to scan the room, searching for possibilities of the mysterious Lady Helen, whom James had more than once promised to be a great beauty. His eyes settled on a young girl across the room, standing near a woman dripping in diamonds with fiery red hair. The girl seemed young by the look of her face, but decided she couldn't be much younger than himself. Clad in a royal blue gown, the porcelain of her skin was milky and fresh in the candlelight, a perfect contrast to the deep richness of her dress. Her dark hair was styled in curls, one large one resting on her bare shoulder. And there, on her neck, seemingly kissing her collarbone was a sapphire and diamond necklace. An exquisite piece, it was surely worth more than what his own mother wore tonight collectively. He found himself hoping that this was indeed the Lady Helen James had described. She was beautiful enough, of course, even more so than he had imagined, but in addition to her beauty, if her father could afford such a necklace, then surely Downton could be saved. Robert shook his head at his own thoughts, realizing with some disgust that he was being absolutely ridiculous and utterly desperate.

The ball, meanwhile, had pleasantly surprised Martha. She had been certain it would be a bore, as most of these English ladies spoke in such soft and charming ways it made her want to swear like a sailor to wake them up a bit. However, she indeed found she was having a wonderful time. She stood by Annette and Cora, chattering on to some lord, although she couldn't really remember his name. Lord Harrow? Lord Hounslow? The names were all beginning to run together. Quite frankly, everyone was beginning to run together, in one dull blur. But tonight had been nice.

She looked at Cora next to her, pretty and poised in her blue gown. She hadn't seemed happier in quite some time. Martha would admit to that. And Martha would also admit that Cora was quite good at attracting these English men. They were beginning to buzz around her like bees around a new blossom; that is, if the bees were fortune hunters and the blossom was wearing a necklace more valuable than their London townhome. She watched as Cora lowered her lashes and laughed. The men around her couldn't get enough of it. But the one that Cora had been luring the most, Lord Raynham, was starting to get on her nerves. She could tell in the way Cora cut her eyes toward her own that she would be needing her space soon.

As the orchestra stuck up another song, and two other two men went to find their intended dance partners, he extended his hand to Cora without a word.

She shot a glance at her mother again, but then resumed her air of delight and innocence. "Oh, Viscount Raynham, I'm terribly afraid I'll have to sit this one out. You don't mind, do you?"

He shook his head. "No. I'll give you some time to rest, my dear." He took her silken, gloved hand in his own and pressed a quick kiss to it before leaving for the other side of the ballroom.

Cora gave a small sigh in relief.

Annette and Martha shared a look and quiet laugh. She glowered at them both in return.

Robert watched as the girl in blue looked away from her group and glanced across the room. She must have felt his eyes on her, for she looked up and over at him, catching his stare. He thought he'd offer a small smile, as penance for being caught staring, but James interrupted him, with a woman at his heels.

"Lord Downton – Robert - this is Lady Helen Brent."

Helen stepped forward and extended her hand. Robert took it and grasped it politely, even giving her a slight bow. James was partially correct, she was very beautiful, dark golden hair and grey eyed, but something about her appearance surprised Robert. She seemed much older than he had expected her to be.

Pushing that thought aside, he threw out all the proper and decent small talk he had been taught to recite her way, until at long last, someone caught her attention and she excused herself from his company. As she left James raised a brow.

"So? What do you think?"

Robert didn't know how to put it. "She's lovely, but James, she seems much older than I anticipated."

James shook his head and chuckled a bit. "You never inquired her age."

Robert didn't understand. He stared at his cousin for a period of silence and then leaned in closer as James began to explain.

"She's a widow. I've known her for coming on two years now."

"But how do you know her?"

James gave a sideways grin and brought a glass of drink he was holding to his lips. He looked around the room as he answered. "We've made arrangements in the past. I've assuaged her loneliness, and she's assuaged…well…my longings, as it were."

Robert felt the heat under his color. It took every ounce of control in him in order to not yell out. "You mean to tell me that she is your mistress?"

James shushed him and looked him deeply in his eyes. Emma was just a few feet away and she didn't need this sort of upset in her condition. "Yes." He hissed. "Now, please have the decency to keep your voice down."

"The decency!"

James shushed him once more.

"You introduce me to your mistress in hopes I'll marry her and then you have the audacity to reprimand my decency!"

He stepped even closer to Robert. "What do you care? You're only after her for her money, are you not? Because she has it. She has enough money to save Downton. Her late husband's entire fortune is now her own and you would be remiss to turn down an offer such as this. She's still young enough to bear your sons, Robert, yet old enough to have a great deal of money."

Robert was incredulous. "And when I marry her, what part will you play? Will Downton be your hideaway from Emma and your child, then? Well, I won't be a part of this. I draw the line at you bedding my wife under my own roof."

Then, obviously affronted, James jerked up straight. He pulled the bottom of his waistcoat and marched away angrily, Emma following him with her eyes as he left.

Violet was not far enough from the scene to allow it to go unnoticed. Robert felt her presence as she sidled up to him, looking from him to the back of the retreating James.

"What on Earth…"

"It's nothing Mama." Robert wanted to diffuse this situation as quickly as he could. But Violet was the diffuser of situations, not Robert.

"Nothing? Well, whether it nothing or something, I wouldn't involve myself with that boy. He's a nasty piece of work. Has been since the day he was born."

Robert sighed. "He's my first cousin, Mama."

Violet blinked and looked at her son, wide-eyed. "And why does that excuse his behavior?"

She watched him shrug.

"Now then," she had been waiting for most of the night to introduce Robert to a certain girl, a Miss Pauline Whetstone and found now to be the perfect opportunity. "If you'll wait here, Robert, I'd like you to meet someone."

Robert groaned, but Violet hadn't the patience for such childishness. "Do you want a nice mate or not, Robert? Because frankly if you think James can find a better match I would have to disagree."

He didn't want a nice mate at the moment. He wanted a drink.

Violet continued. "Now wait here while I find her."

As she took her leave, Robert heaved another heavy sigh. He found himself once again staring at the girl in blue. She looked nearly as annoyed as he felt. He let out a small laugh, though he wasn't quite sure why. Perhaps it was from the complete chaos of the evening. But whatever the case, he laughed before he went out in search of that drink.

Cora felt the man's cool stare on her again and she looked up to see him walking away. She sighed as her mother continued on talking to Annette about the strangeness of the one lord with the large forehead; she couldn't remember his name.

"Mother?"

Martha looked up at her daughter's sudden interruption.

"I'm going for a refreshment." She gave a small smile to Annette. "Excuse me."

Annette, understanding her anxiousness, smiled in return. "Of course."

She turned and left, her skirts rustling around her. In her periphery she could see Raynham lifting his chin in search and felt a heightened sense of purpose. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy his company, but he had danced nearly every dance with her all evening long and, quite frankly, she wanted a rest. She wanted a place to just observe the crowd for a moment and not be part of it.

She walked along the back wall, behind footmen and flower arrangements, until she spotted something rather promising. Cora saw the open door and took it, slipping in quietly and sighing a relief in the dusky shadows. A couple walked closely to the door, and she stepped backward to remain unseen. As she did so, she bumped into something behind her. When she turned, surprised, she realized it was not something, but rather someone.

He stood wearing his tails, a tall young man, with broad shoulders. He looked rather surprised himself.

"Oh! Oh, dear. I apologize. I didn't realize..." She fumbled over the words in her embarrassment.

He shook his hand and smiled. "No need." He gave a chuckle. "Now that I'm found, I don't mind sharing my hiding space." He held a glass in his hand and she heard the sound of ice cubes clinking against the sides. "As long as you'll keep my secret."

She smiled, and blinked at the stranger. She couldn't be sure, but in the darkness she thought he had been the man watching her. "Thank you." She cautiously looked out again at the party, very aware of her companion standing not too far away.

The light from the ballroom washed over her face, illuminating her features in the darkness of the sitting room.

He stepped toward her, standing behind her now, and looked out as well. She could feel his gaze following the curve of her necklace, and every so often dipping down to chest. She breathed heavier, out of such inpropriety and excitement. But also, for the effect it would have for the view.

She heard him softly clear his throat behind her, and take a small step back. "So, what is it that you're hiding from? Do they not have this dance in America?"

Cora looked over her shoulder at him. His blue eyes sparkled, even in the shadows. He was the man looking at her earlier. Wasn't he?

"You are American, aren't you?"

She smiled and lifted her brows. She answered with an air of irony. "What gave me away?"

"Well..." he began, seemingly shocked she'd asked. "Your accent seems to be..."

Cora shook her head and laughed. "No. I know. I'm teasing you."

To her great relief he laughed as well and then looked back out at the party. "So, it's not the dance, then? Perhaps it's a person you're hiding away from?"

Cora looked down and pressed her lips together. She had to remember to be tactful and polite. She looked back over her shoulder and into his eyes. "No, not exactly one person specifically. Though, Viscount Raynham has been on the scent all night."

The man laughed behind her again. "You mean Lord Raynham?"

Cora grimaced. "Yes." She tilted her head and lowered her voice. "The titles are a little confusing. Thank you."

"Not to worry." He gave her a kind nod after taking a drink from his glass. "I am sure you'll master it soon enough."

Cora smiled. For some reason unknown to her, the darkness made her feel safe with this man. "And you?" She raised a brow. "Who are you hiding from?"

He didn't hesitate. "My mother."

"Oh?" So they had something in common. She looked out into the crowd. "And which one is she?"

He leaned near her, so close in fact that she could almost feel the heat from his cheek against her own. He nodded toward the woman sitting along the wall, slender and elegant. Her hair was a strawberry blonde color and her eyes were large and blue. She spoke with a younger lady, perhaps around Cora's own age. But then she noticed something more: the jewelry that adorned her neck, her wrists, and then her head. Her tiara glittered in the candlelight. Cora's breath caught in her chest. His mother looked very important. So, then, who exactly was he? Feeling suddenly bashful and remembering where she was, she looked back up at him.

His eyes were soft as he looked into her own. "I should go." She grinned momentarily. "Lord Raynham will be looking for me soon."

He didn't avert his eyes. She continued. "I wouldn't want to give away your hiding place."

He gave a breathy sort of laugh and she slipped quietly back out into the party.

Robert watched as the girl in the blue dress left him alone in the darkness. He followed her as she returned to her friends, and as Lord Raynham claimed another dance with her.

Her necklace sparkled as she was spun around the room.


	5. Chapter Five

The maid pulled harder on the laces of Cora's corset as Martha sat in the room, watching. Her daughter had chosen the silky coral dress for dinner and it lay across the bed ready to be draped over her delicate frame. Martha studied the beadwork along the bodice, appreciating each tiny iridescent bead that had been sown onto the fabric in intricate circles and spirals. The fabric shimmered in the candlelight.

After a moment, she looked up into the mirror and looked at her daughter. Cora looked back over her shoulder toward her maid, the reflection of her profile standing tall and poised. She was a sight to be seen. When Cora's gaze returned to the mirror, Martha smiled. Cora smiled in return, but it seemed somewhat strained, as if she were lost in her own thoughts.

Martha adjusted her crossed ankles, looking at her shoes momentarily. Pensive was not a word she would typically use to describe her child, but there it was. She pursed her lips and then spoke out in the silence. "Are you looking forward to seeing Lord Raynham again tonight?"

Cora widened her eyes. The irritation she had been feeling came out in one exhale of words. "I would be if I were ever given the chance to miss him."

Martha laughed at the truth of it. Since the night of the first ball two weeks ago, he had come to call every day since. He came for tea, he came for walks in the park, and he nearly hounded her at the other three balls to which they had been invited. It all came down to this: Cora hadn't yet found a way to say no. She didn't want to immediately kill any chance of securing a match to someone by refusing his admirations. To be marked as someone who didn't wish to be pursued. However, she was afraid that he was beginning to scare away any other suitors. That is, perhaps one in particular. True, she didn't know who he was, but at the three balls that they had attended since the first, she found herself searching the sea of unfamiliar faces for only one. She'd even looked into the dark corners and spaces of the ballrooms, disappointed each time. And yes, it felt a little childish, but she didn't care. She couldn't help but to wonder who he was. Perhaps he wasn't any real important man at all, but it was the thought of him that she romanticized. Her mystery man.

Martha caught the glimmer of a grin in the corner of Cora's mouth, but she let it linger without inquiry. Touching the fabric of the chosen gown she announced, "Annette's invited another girl, I hear. An Emma something or other."

Cora raised her brows.

"Mrs. Emma Crawley, Mrs. Levinson," the maid clarified as she turned for the dress, picking it up from the bed. The deep pinky orange seemed to warm the whole room.

Martha pointed at her with gratitude. "Yes, Crawley. Very good."

The maid smiled.

Cora looked at Martha through the mirror, her brows still raised. "Oh? That's nice. Annette hadn't mentioned that to me." 

"Well," the soft and dense folding sound of the silk permeated the room as Martha explained. "I saw her after I was dressed and she told me. Says she's expecting a baby as well."

Cora drew in a breath as the maid tightened the laces on the back of her dress. She ran her hands along the front of it, paying special attention to where they caressed her abdomen. It seemed all these English men did was make babies. "Is she? I assume her husband is attending with her."

Martha nodded. "Yes, her husband and his cousin, apparently."

Cora smirked. "Is she expecting a baby as well?" She laughed a little as the maid clasped a necklace for her. It was cold and heavy on her skin.

Her mother, on the other hand, neither smiled nor laughed. Instead she shrugged her shoulders and gave a sigh. "I don't know anything about the cousin," she paused and made sure to catch Cora's eye, "but I dare say with the attention Lord Raynham has been giving you, it may not be long before you yourself are awaiting a blessed event."

She felt a sudden lurch and turn of her stomach. What? With Lord Raynham? She wanted desperately to have children, but with Lord Raynham? He was very handsome, and he had a title and a great family name, but he was absolutely suffocating her. In fact, she had almost begun to regret her enthusiasm to come over because of him.

Martha saw the change of expression in her daughter and decided to further the conversation in hopes that Cora could learn to tell him no. Martha tried gracefully to encourage her to do so, but thus far it was without success. There were better titles to be won than Viscountess, after all. "Mmm. And he seems absolutely potent. The relentless ones usually are."

With the maid now finished, Cora turned to her mother and gave her a look of disapproval.

Martha grinned like a madman, her plan seemingly taking hold. "You'd be pregnant in no time at all!"

"That's quite enough, Mother." She snatched the dinner gloves from her maid and proceeded to put them on. Martha stifled her laughter.

At the sound of the door clicking open, the three turned their heads abruptly. Annette's plain face appeared in the small opening, glowing as usual.

"I hope you're ready." She whispered. "They've arrived."

Everyone was surprised. "Have they? Oh dear." Cora worked on her glove a little more quickly. "Go on, Mother. I'll be right down."

Martha stood from the bed and touched the back of her hair with her hands. "Well," she groaned. "If you're sure." She turned to leave, following Annette out and down to the foyer. The maid left closely behind.

As the door closed behind them, Cora took one last look in the mirror, touching a curl that seemed out of place. Then with the satisfaction that her dress was as good as it would ever be, she left the room, closing the door securely behind her.

Robert entered the threshold of this London home behind a very pregnant Emma, who waddled a bit in her condition, and a quite disgruntled James. They were amicably greeted by Lord Falton upon their entrance. The earl, a tall and lean man in perhaps his late 30s, was cheery, taking their hands happily.

James made sure to make apologies. "I'm afraid we're a little early. We've taken the carriage and not walked, for Emma's sake." In fact, Emma had insisted they take the carriage at the last minute, and Robert had pleaded her case.

Lord Falton nodded agreeably. "I dare say you've made the right choice. Come in, my dear. You may have a seat presently. Lady Falton will be right down. She's just collecting our guests."

Emma gave him a genteel smile and James then took it upon himself to introduce Robert. He cleared his throat. Agitation always made him feel as if his esophagus was closing in. "Lord Falton, this is my cousin, Lord Downton."

As he looked upon him, a wave of validation spread through Lord Falton's long features. "Ah, yes, Lord Grantham's son? I thought you may have looked familiar to me."

Robert, perhaps a little surprised Lord Falton knew of him, extended his hand. "Yes, Robert Crawley."

And then what further surprised him was the strength of his handshake as the thin man took his hand in his own.

He nodded to Robert and continued in an explanation. "My father and I used to come up to Downton for your hunt every year. That is, every year until he died, of course. You were still in the nursery then, when we'd ride out, I'm afraid. Or if not the nursery, still quite young. How is your father, then, hmm? I hope he's well and that Downton is in good order. Lovely place."

Both fortunately and unfortunately, Robert had been practicing this lie for weeks. "Very good order. Thank you." Delivered without even a flinch.

"Very good. So glad to hear it. Really"

Cora could hear the chatter from below as she moved to the balcony. As she began to slowly descend the stairs, she watched as her mother and Annette greeted the others and made proper introductions. But then, she stopped. There it was, a familiar voice among the unfamiliar. Her breath felt scant and she gripped the railing. It was him. She was sure of it. She had been searching every ball for this man and here he stood, right in the foyer of the home in which she was staying. She relaxed the girl-like smile that had appeared on her lips and, after a slow breath, she calmly descended the stairs.

Her heels clicked on the marble floor as she walked up to the Annette and gave her a small grin, then looked to the others.

Annette grabbed her arm lovingly. "Ah, yes. There you are!" She positioned her so she could see the entire group gathered. "Cora, I'd like you to meet Mr. and Mrs. Crawley. Emma was one of my first friends here." She smiled at her sweetly. "And this is Mr. Crawley's cousin, Lord Downton. Everyone, this is Miss Cora Levinson."

The group mumbled respectable hellos. Even Robert found himself nodding along, but then it wasn't before he met her eyes that he realized he had seen her before. Though he hadn't known her name then, it sounded strangely familiar. "Miss Levinson?"

Cora smiled and grasped his hand firmly. "Hello." They stood silent and shared a quick, knowing grin.

Annette, however, noticed the recognition that passed between them and it perplexed her. She narrowed her eyes, and taking a step backward, placed her hand on her belly. "Funny. Have you met before?"

Cora shook her head, but didn't look away from Robert's gaze. "Not formally, no." She then added as a quieter afterthought, "And very briefly."

Robert smiled. Something in the way she said things made him want to laugh.

Behind the group, the butler stepped through with another visitor. "Lord Raynham, my lady."

Everyone turned and Annette walked forward to greet her guest. "Lord Raynham," she called, "I'm delighted you've come. I do apologize that no one was there to greet you at the door. You see, we've been making introductions." She gestured her hand toward the others. Allow me to introduce you to our guests." He walked behind her and was politely introduced, all the while making quick, but direct glances at Cora. It didn't settle well with Cora, but she smiled good-naturedly. She always found it difficult to put an admirer at a distance, but this was the first time she felt it nearly impossible.

And it didn't quite go unnoticed by Robert, either.

"And this is Mr. Crawley's cousin, Lord..." Annette stared at Robert, her hand outstretched.

"Downton." He finished for her.

Lord Raynham shook his hand. "Well, I'm sure we've seen each other at court once or twice. Glad to meet you."

But before Robert could answer, Lord Raynham had extended his arm for the girl by his side. "Miss Levinson?"

Robert watched as she looked down, barely smiling, and put her hand delicately through his arm so he could escort her into the drawing room. He walked behind them, his eyes on the back of her neck and hair. The chain of her necklace dangled between her shoulder blades, a soft curl at the nape of her neck moved from the breeze of her movements.

James, however, had already moved into the drawing room, and he sat near his wife. He watched as Lord Raynham walked in with the dark haired girl and as Robert walked behind them. My, but she was beautiful. Seemed a bit young, but beautiful. He leaned toward Emma, who rested with her hand on her swollen abdomen. "Who is that girl?"

Emma raised her brows. "The loud one's daughter."

They both looked to Martha who was explaining something to Lord Falton with wild gesticulations. Emma gave a tiny giggle.

"No." James grumbled. "I mean, what do you know about her?"

Emma regarded him coolly. There weren't many reasons why he would want to know about a pretty, young girl. She rubbed her belly. "Why particularly?"

Without hesitation he nodded toward his younger cousin, who stood in a corner now taking a glass of scotch from a footman.

Emma sighed and leaned closer. "Well, Annette has said she's from New York. She's here on holiday"

"Oh."

She watched his face fall slightly, looking back at his cousin, disappointment etched across his features. She knew what he meant in asking, for she knew the trouble in which his family now found themselves. Uncle Patrick was dear to him, and he did love Downton. She studied his disappointment another moment before she gave in. She disclosed the rest. "And..." James looked at her. "She is in possession of a great deal of money."

The words were not lost on James. Not a bit. "How much?"

Emma stared at him intently, expressing herself evenly and seriously. "More than you can possibly imagine."

James blinked and then frowned thoughtfully. They both looked at Robert again.

Cora was looking at him, too. At least momentarily, while Lord Raynham looked down into his drink. Robert met her gaze for a moment, and she tried a smile at him. He returned one, but then walked over to his cousin in nearly the same moment. She gave a silent sigh and returned her attention to Lord Raynham. She studied the black hair that had fallen on his forehead and the darkness of her eyes. He was handsome.

Then, at long last, they were called through with the announcement that dinner was served. Cora stood with everyone else as the ladies began to start for the dining room, determined to go in with her mother. Annoyingly, Lord Raynham stayed by her side during the wait. She leaned away and smiled at him, in an effort to have him leave. "I'm just waiting on Mother."

He only nodded.

Martha joined them and Cora quickly moved away from him then, despite his efforts to follow closely behind. Robert also stood near, and noticed the way in which Lord Raynham kept at her heels. He remembered the words she had said the other night, that he had been "on the scent" and felt sympathy for her. She looked exhausted of him.

They all found their seats at the table, Lord and Lady Falton in the center. Happily, Cora found herself on the opposite end from Lord Raynham, who sat next to Martha. And in an even bigger stroke of luck, Lord Downton had been seated next to her. Upon realizing this fact, several girlish butterflies began to flutter around within her stomach, but with a quick breath, she stilled their wings. There was no point in being foolish. After all, for the first part of dinner he kept relatively quiet, the rest of the table discussing some shared topic. But then as private conversations began to evolve, she heard him make a soft sound.

"It appears Lord Raynham does rather enjoy your company."

She swallowed her sip of wine and pressed her lips together to avoid smiling too noticeably. She nodded.

Robert dared to say more. "Perhaps a little too much, then?"

She didn't know what it was about this man, but she felt herself nodding ever so slightly in total honesty. She knew better than to be so rude, but it couldn't be helped. She was suffocating.

She hadn't looked at him, but part of him felt sort of sorry for the girl. He had heard that Lord Raynham could be a little overbearing, though Robert couldn't understand why he has chosen this American girl to chase after. There were plenty of others who would have him gladly. She was pretty, of course - well, even more than just pretty if he were honest - but to be so persistent? He seemed to an outsider almost as desperate as Robert felt the other night at the ball.

He could see she was concentrating on her plate, obviously uncomfortable with being openly disagreeable with someone she barely knew. He let his eyes travel from her lashes to her lips. She pressed them gently. Then he noticed something else about her. She held her fork incorrectly, it was upside down compared to how he held his, and it made him smile. He changed the subject.

"How have you enjoyed your time in England otherwise? Finding the social season agreeable?"

Cora chewed the bite of her food and swallowed. "So far it's been lovely. Though, I must admit I haven't seen much of England. Only London."

Robert watched her cut another small bite of food and eat it. Her mother and Lord Raynham stared at them from the other end on the table.

"And you?" She asked. "Do you live here in London?"

He met her eyes at her question and noticed how incredibly blue they were in the lightness of the dining room. They nearly made him forget what she had asked. "In London?"

She smiled.

"Partly." He returned his gaze to his plate and continued to explain. "We have a home here, in London, for the summer - Grantham House. Most of the rest of the year we're in Yorkshire..."

"Yorkshire?" She interrupted him, albeit politely.

"Yes." Of course he'd never had to explain Yorkshire before. "A region north of here. We reside in the country, really. At Downton Abbey."

He saw her eyes grow wider with a sort of recognition. "Oh! Like your name. Downton." She beamed, holding her fork poised in her hand.

He allowed a small laugh escape. "Like my title, yes."

Cora sat still for a moment, thoughtfully. "It's rather funny," she started. He looked up at her with a curiously raised brow. "In America we do just the opposite."

He held his brow steadfast. She looked down and pushed some food on her plate, feeling that maybe it wasn't polite to mention American customs to an English lord. But he didn't seem to mind all that much. "During most of the year we stay in the city and then it's during the summer when we escape to the country."

"Then I'm sorry you've missed your escape."

She shook her head, and studied her plate. "No," she paused briefly. "This is my escape."

She could feel the heat of Lord Raynham's eyes upon her and she looked to him. "Well," she leaned the tiniest bit closer to Robert. "For the most part."

Robert caught her eyes and smiled in understanding. They shared a laugh as the footman placed the final course in front of them: parts of a pineapple in a glass, drowned in a liquid that Cora assumed was perhaps wine or champagne. She'd only had pineapple a handful of times in her life, and those times it had come already cut from its outer shell. But here it had even the green leaves as ornamentation, open, but it would require some work to scrape the fruit away.

Robert could see out of the corner of his eye that Miss Levinson studied her silverware, seemingly unsure of which would be most appropriate to use for such a dish. Where he thought he may have felt her terribly uncouth, he did not. In fact, he found himself softly clearing his throat to attract her attention. She peered at him as he deliberately chose the large spoon to his right, picking it up slowly so she could copy. She did, but did not bother to give herself away. Instead, she chose it confidently and began to gracefully abstract small, ladylike bites from the fruit. There was silence between them as the group began to converse as a whole once more.

After the dinner and then after cigars and brandies, the gentleman made their way back into the drawing room to join the ladies. Cora watched eagerly for Lord Downton to come through. She wanted to thank him for his help at dinner, however embarrassing the situation.

Then at last he entered, along with the rest, and she casually made her way over to him. He lifted his chin at her approach.

"Lord Downton..."

"Miss Levinson." She smiled and looked down. She wasn't sure why, but the sound of her name in his mouth made her blush.

She looked back up at him, smiling bashfully. "I wanted to thank you," she said softly so no one else might hear. "For helping me at the table."

"Think nothing of it..."

"But truly," she pressed. "Thank you all the same. I shall remember it."

He looked at her with a grin, "My father is a great traveler, and as his companion there have been many an evening that left me unsure of which utensil to employ. It takes some adjustment."

"Yes," she smiled. "But luckily for me, I am rather a quick learner, my lord."

He laughed in admiration of her confidence. "I'm sure you are."

He studied the light of her eyes before she lowered her lashes, but then caught the approach of Lord Raynham in his sight. He stood straighter and bowed a bit as he came for them. Furthermore, he saw the breath Cora took in as she looked up at Lord Raynham's salutation.

"Lord Raynham," she acknowledged. "I hope you enjoyed dinner."

He tilted his head toward her, making her feel as if she should take a step back, but she didn't. He spoke deeply, "Of course, I would've enjoyed it infinitely more with you by my side."

"Oh," she forced a smile and shot a quick glance to Lord Downton before she looked down, blushing. "Good gracious, how flattering you are."

He smiled and looked down his nose at Robert before turning more to Cora. "There is something I'd rather like to ask you, if you don't mind."

She shot her eyes up at him and waited silently.

He waited as well, Cora assumed for Lord Downton to leave, but thankfully he did not. He stood by her side and looked at Lord Raynham as he spoke. Lord Raynham, on the other hand, glanced at Lord Downton meaningfully, but then, giving up, asked what he had intended. "I'd like to come and call on you tomorrow, if I may. Perhaps take you for tea."

Cora opened her mouth to try to decline, for she truly did not want to see him yet again, but felt the acceptance lingering on her tongue.

"I apologize." Cora looked up at Lord Downton, who spoke. "But I'm afraid I've rather convinced her to accompany me to Kew Gardens tomorrow."

Cora gaped up at him, and then blinked several times. She felt herself nodding, and grinning contritely up at Lord Raynham without really understanding what had just transpired. In blatant agitation at Lord Downton, and even a little at Cora herself, he bowed and said good night, walking to the other end of the room for another drink.

Cora stood speechless. She didn't know what to say, what to think, or even how to act around Lord Downton now. Did he expect her to just do as he bid? Or rather was this some sort of gesture of good will?

"There now." He interrupted her thoughts. "It seems I've returned the favor."

Cora glanced up at him, knowing good and well her mother slowly made her way to their end of the drawing room, their time alone reaching the point of it being improper. "Excuse me?"

"Well, you've kept my secret from Lady Whitmere's ball, I felt I owed you your own."

She knitted her brows.

"Stay home tomorrow and relax. Read books. Hide from...well...no one specifically." He glanced at Lord Raynham, who happened to be downing another drink, and then back to her. He gave a sideways grin as Martha joined them.

"Mrs. Levinson," he nodded as he lifted his chin in search of James.

Cora was left still blinking, gradually comprehending what he had done and feeling completely grateful.

"Cora." Martha peered up at her daughter and narrowed her eyes. She recognized the warmth behind the smile that now painted her daughter's lips. She recognized it and she knew it may be the fatal flaw in their plan.

Robert settled into the carriage after wishing good nights and thanking his hosts. His belly full of food and drink, he sighed happily. Emma smiled up at him as adjusted in her place in the seat to his left. James, who sat across from them, also let out a great sigh, and then reclined, stretching his arm on top of the bench.

"Did you enjoy your evening?" Emma asked as they began to move about in the carriage.

Robert nodded. "Yes, I did, believe it or not. Lord and Lady Falton seem to be very amiable people."

Emma nodded happily. "Yes, Annette is quite nice, I think."

"Rather surprising considering her origins," James grumbled. He glanced at his wife who rubbed a hand across her belly and gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

"The other American girl...how did you find her, Robert?"

He looked up at James. "Miss Levinson?"

James stretched his neck to the side. "No, the mother." He watched his cousin furrow his brow. "Yes, of course, Miss Levinson."

Robert took a breath in and frowned thoughtfully. "She's pleasant."

Emma smirked and peered up at him. "Only pleasant?" She gave a warmer smile. "She held your attention for a good bit of the party, cousin Robert."

"W-well," Robert stuttered, "I mean, yes. Quite pleasant. Very pleasant indeed."

James wasn't as coy. "You found her more than just pleasant, did you not? She's a beauty for sure. And Raynham seems to be quite possessive of her."

Robert sensed something in the way he said that. He knew they were trying for something, but what? "Why? What does that have to do with me?"

James shrugged. "Just that perhaps you should see a little more of her."

Robert looked between James and Emma. "What?"

Emma eyed her husband and then returned her attention to Robert. "I'm wondering if perhaps she wouldn't be a suitable candidate to consider."

Robert felt indignant, "You aren't serious."

James nodded. "I am serious."

"But..."

"But what?" James stared at him in the darkness of the carriage.

Robert felt it was obvious. "She's an American."

"A rich American, Robert." Emma. He looked at Emma, sweet Emma who would never do a bad thing in all her life.

There was silence between them all, the sound of horses' hooves clicking along the cobblestones.

James reiterated his wife's words. "Rich, Robert."

Robert swallowed. He couldn't make eye contact for shame of his next thought. "How..."

"How rich?" He looked at James.

"Obscenely."


	6. Chapter Six

Robert watched the sidewalk pass slowly by from his carriage window. It bounced along the London street to the house he'd been to only the night before: Lord and Lady Falton's, the house where Miss Levinson resided. His mind pictured her face. Young, pretty Miss Levinson. A smile instinctually crept onto his lips as the thought of her clueless expression over the dessert came to his mind. As quickly as it had come, he had checked his expression and forced the smile to fade away. He couldn't smile about this. It wasn't right. It didn't feel right. His eyes went back to the scenery. He wanted his mind to go back to blank.

The morning air was cool and fresh, but the sun was already hot on his skin and he pondered briefly if perhaps instead it was his nerves. After debating within himself, he finally went over his excuses in his mind. What would he tell her? Nothing. He'd explain nothing. He had offered after all, and it wouldn't be polite to not follow through. Yes? No. No, it was perfectly clear why he had offered. He'd even told her to relax. Damn, and she had been so grateful to be rid of Lord Raynham for the day. And he had even been glad to help. But now he knew. Now he understood why Lord Raynham, one of the biggest womanizers he knew, was out to commit to the American. It went beyond her beauty and her manners. It went beyond the enchanting distinctions she exhibited of her American culture. It was her wealth. Her substantial wealth that would save Downton.

Robert had told his father when he returned home last night. His father's eyes all filled with hope now seemed to burn into his memory. The words of "we're saved" echoing in the billiard room vibrated in his ears. Yes. Yes, they would be saved if he would play the game, and if she would dare play along.

Meanwhile, Cora was peacefully enjoying her morning. She sat with her mother in the drawing room, several chapters into the new book she had found amongst Annette's shelves. As time passed, however, she began to absent-mindedly brush the corner of the pages with her thumb, her thoughts growing louder and louder in her head. She brushed and brushed the pages until Martha impatiently stopped her with a terse hush. Cora looked up and apologized softly before trying to resume the line of text she was on, but she couldn't even recall the main character's name now. Because although her mind was lighter today than it had been the past several weeks, for it was one day that she could assume no suitor would come to call, her thoughts had begun to slowly eat away at her brain. She knew the only suitor who dared call was Lord Raynham. Lord Raynham, the impeccably handsome, but impeccably over bearing man who she soon realized wasn't entranced by her at all, but rather with her money. And while she assumed her money was certainly alluring, she had hoped that he could find some interest in her personality as well.

But then, she continued to wonder. Perhaps he would be a great match. After all, she would be a viscountess, a Lady. Lady Raynham. She moved the name silently around in her mouth, breathing it, tasting it. Raynham. She imagined scenes that her future might hold. However, the pictures that came to her mind were not what she had seen three weeks ago: beautiful dark-haired children playing in an English garden, Lord Raynham smiling graciously across the room as she was introduced to other members of the peerage at court. No, not now. Now she saw children who would probably treat her as a lowly outsider, and Lord Raynham dancing with other women at parties they would host courtesy of her father's dime. She flicked the edges of the pages again.

"Stop that!" Martha spat.

Her mother's interruption of her thoughts made her jump a little. "Sorry."

Martha gave a sigh and dropped the needlework that she had been trying to be interested in. "Cora, go find something to do. Please. Where's Annette?"

"Out with Lord Falton."

Martha rolled her eyes. "Then go shopping."

"Mother," Cora reminded, "you know I can't go alone. Not here. It's not proper."

Martha gave her groan, "Oh, of course it's not. What is?"

Cora sighed. "I would rather stay here, really."

"Fine," Martha conceded, "but please stop that idle fidgeting. This trip is beginning to grate my nerves and I won't have you adding to my irritations. I hate this country."

"Miss Levinson," the butler called staring ahead.

Cora shot a hot glance at her mother, indescribably ashamed of her, before answering the butler softly. "Yes, Howard?"

"Lord Downton to see you."

Cora and her mother both looked at one another surprised.

"What?" Cora managed to ask before Lord Downton himself came into the room.

Cora stood as he came in, though she wasn't sure why, and Martha was perfectly happy to remain seated and to observe him with a suspicious dip of her brow.

Robert stood still, holding his hat, and smiling as politely as he could. The three of them were silent for far longer than seemed natural. Robert cleared his throat, "Good morning, ladies."

"Lord Downton!" Cora's voice came out a pitch higher than she expected, and she swallowed the tightness in her throat down. Martha peered at her curiously. "What a surprise."

He, like her mother, tried to make sense of her expression, to try and read what the stiffness in her brows, but glimmer of delight in the bright blueness of her eyes could mean. Accepting that he didn't quite know, he ventured forth with his plan. "I hope you're still willing to accompany me, or am I too early?"

Cora blinked and opened and closed her mouth. She glanced at her mother, who shrugged, and then back at Lord Downton before sputtering, "Accompany you?"

Oh dear. Robert clinched his hat by his side as a sort of prayer. "To the gardens of course." When he saw no immediate recognition, he clarified, "Kew Gardens?"

Amused, Martha looked back and forth between the two younger people, both standing with limbs tight and tense. She watched as Cora nodded and tilted her head in the way that was so genuinely Cora.

"Oh yes." She heard her daughter saying. "Yes, how nice. Just wait a moment while we get our hats?"

Her eyes followed her daughter as she walked through the doorway of the drawing room and into the small hall behind it.

Feeling somewhat defeated, Martha sighed, then stood and clapped her hands together. She nodded resolutely. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the boy eyeing her, and noticing the way this Lord Downton fellow studied her strangely, she offered him an overly enthused smile, complete with squinting eyes, before shuffling after her daughter.

Upon entering the hallway, Martha saw that Cora was thanking the maid who went to retrieve their hats and coats. She couldn't help but to cock a darkly amused brow, a gesture that made Cora furrow hers.

"Shh!" Cora warned, looking over her mother's head and through the doorway to Lord Downton. He stood idly there, in the soft light of the drawing room, twisting his waist this way to look at one thing and then the other to look at the next. Cora found her mother's eyes. "I don't want him to hear."

Her mother frowned, confused, and disappointed. "I thought it was all a ploy to help you get a day to yourself."

"So did I," Cora whispered, leaning closer to her mother, wide-eyed and with a tint of embarrassed pink on her cheeks. The maid handed Cora her hat. "And, it seemed like it was. It was."

Martha shook her head. "Well, obviously not." She snuck a glance at the boy; he bounced lightly on his heels. "You must have mistaken him, because he seems intent on going."

Cora shrugged on her coat. "I know that now he does, but it was a ploy. It was. After all, he said to relax. He said to read books. One can't read books whilst touring some flowery gardens, can she?"

"I would rather be reading books than touring flowery gardens," Martha said under her breath, but Cora either didn't hear her or didn't deem it necessary to respond to it. Instead, she just continued her earlier train of thought.

"No. No, I'm sure it was."

"Hmm." Martha mused as she took her gloves from the maid. She stretched her fingers in them as she slid them on. "You know what this means, of course." Cora was peeking back over her at the young man in the drawing room. "He's found out."

Her daughter caught her gaze. "Found out what?"

Martha squared her jaw in annoyance. She hated when Cora feigned ignorance. "About your money," she said with a sneer.

Cora huffed. "Oh, Mother. We can't know that. Perhaps he really meant to take us today." She watched her mother pull on her second glove, but now considering what she had said before. She swallowed nervously. "And besides, how would he have found out?"

"Who knows," Martha sighed heavily and dropped her arms to her sides. "These sorts of people pay others to find things out for them."

"Oh," Cora chided. "He doesn't seem like that, Mother. He seems very nice."

With a hum and narrowed eyes, she stared at Cora. So young. So naive. "Yes. They all seem nice in the beginning, but he's after one thing." She pointed a finger at her for emphasis. "Remember that."

Cora rolled her eyes and sighed feeling quite annoyed. "If you insist."

And Martha nodded, because she did insist. In fact, she was sure of it. "Well," she groaned, "let's go see some flowers."

The ride there was pleasant enough. Martha had to hand it to the boy. He knew the art of polite conversation, at least more so than some of his compatriots. It didn't appear to be entirely forced, although she did feel that this whole situation was rather forced, and he made her smile at several different points in the conversation, which pleased her no end. They had arrived at the gardens in what seemed like only minutes, though judging by the ache in her back they'd been in the carriage for far longer.

He helped them out, taking special attention to grip Cora's gloved fingers firmly and with purpose. She smiled as he helped her, the coachman standing idly by. She thanked him and the three began to walk toward the garden's exhibits.

They were silent, all three of them, and Martha retracted all of the silent praise she gave Lord Downton earlier in the carriage. When they finally made it to their first attraction, Martha couldn't have been any happier.

Neither could Cora. She had walked alongside her mother, with Robert on the other side, and for a reason that she could not explain, she couldn't find anything to speak about. Nothing. It was as if her tongue had abandoned her and stayed behind in the carriage.

Finally, and thankfully, Lord Downton broke the silence. "Yes, here we are."

Cora rose her eyes to the structure before her. "Oh my." The glass gleamed in the summer sun, far above their heads and all sorts of colorful flowers were planted in intricate patterns around it. Her lips parted in surprise and sheer delight at the beauty of it.

Robert studied her response with pleasure. "It's called the Temperate House," he said gaily.

Cora's gaze remained fixedly on the building. "Oh!" She gushed.

Robert smiled, pleased that she seemed impressed. Perhaps the day wouldn't be as uphill as he suspected. "Come then," he said, offering his arm to her, "and we'll go inside."

Cora observed him for a moment before allowing the tiniest grin appear upon her face. "Alright," she said softly as she slowly grasped the crook of his arm.

Her mother stayed behind them, staring.

They stepped inside and Cora's smile broadened. Her eyes darted from plant to plant, her fingers reaching out and touching a few, laughing quietly when one poked her through the fabric of her glove.

"What is this place?" Her eyes were focused above, but he understood it was a question for him.

Yet, he didn't know quite how to answer her. "A...a garden?" He was surprised by the playful look of annoyance she gave him.

"Well, obviously..."

Conscious of her mother behind them, and truly not knowing her quite well enough to decide whether he should play along, he corrected himself. "I believe the gardens began as royal botanical gardens, for the palace here. But has since developed into a sort of conservational park. There's an arboretum, and many more garden spaces than only this one."

Cora's mouth was agape. "There's more gardens? We'll see them, won't we?"

Robert chuckled at her enthusiasm. "Of course, but you must have gardens in America." The moment the words came from his mouth, he hoped she would take them without insult. Alas, he was glad at her change in expression.

"Of course we have," he felt her tighten her grip on his arm and he surprised himself at how his heart quickened at the contact, "but remember Lord Downton, I am a city girl."

He nodded and gave a laugh, "Ah, yes."

"Though I suppose you're accustomed to such beauty, aren't you?" Cora was looking up at him, her eyes shining, and again it struck him how incredibly blue they were. In an instant he found himself thinking that it was she who was beautiful, but he shook his head imperceptibly, feeling completely dishonorable. If he were to woo her, as was now his plan, he wouldn't dare admire her attractiveness. He needed to focus. When he didn't respond immediately, she continued, "The beauty of nature, I mean. Living in the country, and all. I'm sure Downton Abbey has wonderful gardens."

He opened his mouth to respond, but Martha was quicker.

"Downden? What is that? A church?"

Cora turned around to her mother, consequently removing her arm from Robert's.

"Downton, Mother. And it's the name of his home in Yorkshire." Robert smiled in spite of himself to hear the name of his estate dripping of her American accent.

Martha eyed Cora momentarily before replying, "Oh, I understand. So your name isn't Downton, then. It's...?"

"No it isn't Downton," Robert answered. "Lord Downton is a courtesy title until I become Earl."

He watched the recognition alight in both Cora and Martha's eyes. Martha, who was now ever more curious, inquired further. "Well, that's not what I meant...but since you bring it up, that's the sort of lord you are, then, an Earl?"

Robert knew what she had meant, but he didn't feel comfortable being on such an intimate level in the use of his birth name so quickly. He also didn't know how to respond to the latter question. It felt bitterly appraising.

Cora noticed his reluctance to answer and recognized her mother's irritation at the way her question had been ignored. She decided to quickly further his answer, thinking that it may alleviate the awkwardness. "Oh, titles do confuse me," she gave a sweet sort of smile. "I gather a courtesy title is one you hold until you fill your father's shoes, then?"

Robert seemed to exhale. He smiled politely and began to walk again, much to Cora's relief, but this time her arm was absent from the crook of his elbow. "Mm, yes. More or less."

"Earl what, exactly?" Cora turned back again to her mother, frustrated that she pressed the matter.

He hesitated before he answered, suddenly afraid that if he were to disclose his future title that they may find out about his estate's troubles and the plan would be thwarted before it had a chance to truly begin. But of course, if he planned to woo and eventually, dare he say it, marry this girl, she would find out eventually. "My father is the Earl of Grantham."

He looked at Cora when he said it, trying the word on her as one may do a new glove or hat. She had smiled when he said it and it shocked him how well it looked on her. Lady Grantham. He shook his head, more noticeably this time he was afraid, and continued on through the glass house, nodding and explaining what he could at whatever Cora pointed out.

In another short time, after the three had finished with the Temperate House and then Palm House, Robert led them into the rose garden.

Cora gave an appreciative sigh and bent to smell several flowers as they strolled along. As she bent toward another, she could feel Robert's gaze hot on the back of her neck and a blush crept up her chest. He unnerved her by doing that, gazing at her in that way. She had never felt completely unnerved by men's stares, but his were different.

Martha, too, noticed the way the young man looked at her daughter and she narrowed her eyes. Cora knew how to sweetly flirt and how to be demure, but Martha understood then that perhaps this time it was different. This young man, much like Lord Raynham, was after her and it wasn't for her coquettish charm. It was for the curve of her waist and more importantly, the length of her purse strings. Martha felt a sick turn of her stomach and found herself sneering at the boy. While it was true she never expected her daughter to be wooed for affection, she wasn't prepared for the disgust she would feel at someone eyeing her the way he was, obviously interested in the wealth that Isidore had worked so hard so build.

Without thinking much more on the matter, Martha barked, "Cora!" and waited for her daughter's attention.

It startled both she and Robert, and they looked at her intensely.

"Yes?" Cora inquired. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

Martha took a breath and forced a smile. "Oh no, no. Though it is getting rather late, isn't it?"

Cora glanced at Lord Downton and gave a wry smile. "I don't suppose I can ask you to cut our visit short?"

"Of course you may." He smiled at them as a way to hide both his relief and disappointment. He extended his arm toward where the carriage and its driver would be.

Martha was displeased for all the ride home, Cora audaciously choosing to sit next to Lord Downton instead of her and smiling and batting her lashes the way she did. Surely she had to see. She had to know what he was after. Martha fumed nearly the whole way back, not speaking a word, but listening to the boy talk of Downton Abbey and the gardens and the follies and similarities of the gardens they just saw and his own. Cora was soaking in every word, voraciously listening to the tiniest details and asking specific questions.

Martha rolled her eyes.

When they finally arrived back at the Faltons', he helped them both out and moved to knock the knocker for the butler to open the door.

Cora nodded and began to move toward where he beckoned, but stopped, suddenly feeling impulsive and daring. "Might you come for dinner?"

"What?" The question was asked by both Martha and Robert simultaneously and Cora faltered a little in her answer.

"Only..." She looked between them. "Only I had such a pleasant day with you, I thought that perhaps you'd like to have dinner with us. As a thank you."

Martha narrowed her eyes at her daughter, but as she glowered she heard the answer. "How very nice, but no. I'm afraid I can't."

Martha looked at Lord Downton, who smoothed the front of his coat nervously and then at Cora, her face crestfallen and embarrassed.

"Oh," Cora's voice was barely audible, "I apologize-"

"But perhaps tea tomorrow?"

Cora looked up quickly, catching Lord Downton's gaze. She held it for longer than she probably should have, taking in the soft blue of his eyes, and then looked down to her feet bashfully. When she regained her composure, she nodded and smiled. "Yes." She then looked back at Martha. "We'd like that. Very much."

Martha wanted to grab her daughter and shake her, but instead, she sighed.

"Then it's settled."

They both nodded once again, Cora thanking him more than what was necessary, and she and Martha entered the house, Howard closing the door after them.

Once inside, Martha pounced. "No, Cora. No!"

Her daughter was completely confused. Her eyes flew open wide. "What?"

Martha leaned closer to her. She knew what. "You invited that boy for dinner? And now he's coming for tea tomorrow? Have you lost your mind? What about Lord Raynham?"

"Ugh!" Cora shouted and shoved past her mother, taking the stairs quickly and with purpose.

Not caring for any sort of decorum, Martha called after her. "At least Raynham's not completely after your cash!"

Now on the landing, Cora held onto the rail and peered down at Martha. "Oh for Heaven's sake, of course he is, Mother! He has no interest in me!"

"And this Downton fella does?"

Cora gripped the rail again, looking back over it at the woman who had been forcing her to choose men for two years now. The woman who had been pushing her into social circles where she did not belong. And now that she was here, and a decent aristocratic man seemed to be paying her honorable attentiveness, she turned fickle. "He's nice, Mother! I think he's genuine, and he doesn't seem in any financial strain."

"They never do!"

"You're wrong this time." Cora stood up straight and looked down her nose at the woman below her. "You're wrong about him." She whipped around and flew into her room, slamming the door behind her.

Robert fell into the chair near his father at Grantham House.

With the crumbling of his newspaper, Patrick leaned toward his son. "Well!" He interrogated, "How do you find her?"

"Well the mother is dreadfully common."

"And the girl?"

He couldn't answer immediately. He eyed his father and then his own lap. He thought of his day, images of the young Miss Levinson flashing through his mind; in all of them she was smiling, pointing, laughing, and blushing. He settled on, "Animated," and his father laughed.

"That's promising."

Robert lifted a brow. "Promising?"

Patrick continued to snicker, "Animated girls have the reputation of being animated in other ways..."

"Don't." Robert frowned, suddenly feeling ill. "Don't talk about her like that. You sound like James."

"Oh?" Patrick pouted his lips in surprise. "Does it make you uncomfortable?"

Robert sighed. It did. "It's just that she seems...very much like a lady."

His father took in a breath. "Let's hope your mother thinks so."

"Mama?" Robert's breath stilled. "Am I to introduce her to Mama now?"

"Eventually, yes." His father's voice came out cold. "I've made inquiries."

Robert didn't care to respond. This wasn't right.

"Robert," he hesitated, but looked at his father's solemn face. "She has enough to secure Downton for years and years. Decades, even. Generations."

The pit that had been growing in Robert's stomach throughout the day seemed to sprout at his father's words. He looked away with a hard face.

"You will marry her-"

"Doesn't this seem all very underhanded?" He volleyed.

But his father was shaking his head. "Don't you care about Downton?"

"What? Of course-"

"Then you will do it!" Patrick's words thundered through the sitting room, echoing off of the red walls, and for the first time since Robert was a boy, he felt afraid.

He was silent for a long moment, until his father lifted his paper again.

"She's invited me for tea tomorrow," he confessed.

His father didn't bother to move the paper. "Good. Woo her, romance her. Whatever you have to do."

Slumping further into the chair, Robert heaved a sigh. He tried to not think of the way she had blushed when he left her. He tried to not think of the way she had grasped his arm. He tried to not think of the blueness of her eyes. Instead, he thought of Downton.


End file.
